


Backlash

by madame_alexandra



Series: Identity [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, Family, Humor, Love, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Politics, Recovery, Relationship(s), Romance, Self-Acceptance, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-16 06:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 81,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_alexandra/pseuds/madame_alexandra
Summary: Following her personal journey in reconciling herself with her origins, Princess Leia confronts the questions she often had about herself in the galactic arena; she faces perhaps her most formidable foe yet: public opinion. An installment in the Identity 'verse. H/L; AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: and so we go forth with another installment in the Identity 'verse. an interlude, if you will. i fondly refer to this as my Haiku story, because it will take part in three parts - part one is 5 scenes, part two is 7 scenes, and part three is 5 scenes - voila. breaking from my usual custom, this story does not have a prologue or an epilogue. for refresher notes, this 'verse operates on the following timeline:
> 
> ANH (0 ABY), then, three years later, ESB (3 ABY), then, one year (ish) later, ROTJ (4 ABY), with Leia's age in ANH as 19, and her age finishing ROTJ as 23 (based on how I vaguely align her birthdays in my head) - note also that Identity began in 4 ABY (Prologue), took place primarily during 5 ABY, and ended in 6 ABY; The Naberries took place 6 months after Identity, during 6 ABY - and so we end up here; still 6 ABY - this story picking up directly after the epilogue of The Naberries. This will take us through the 'end' of 6 ABY in that stories after it will not take place in 6 ABY - we find Han and Leia still not married a year, facing the onslaught of the Vader Reveal.
> 
> this story 'verse continues to be au.

_ Part 1: _

_ Immediate Backlash _

_ 6 ABY _

* * *

Eerie. That's the word she would use –  _eerie_. It seemed most appropriate to describe the – the tenor, the  _aura_  of the galactic political apparatus in the days following the event that would, in later years, come to be referred to as the Skywalker Reckoning.

For the immediate present – it was known as nothing more than an average day, the final day of a workweek, on which Princess Leia, adopted daughter of House Organa of Alderaan, wife of Han Solo, Rebellion military leader, heroine of the Galactic Civil War, and respected, powerful Ambassador of the New Republic – convened a press conference alongside her father, her brother, and two prominent members of the Naberrie family and delivered a public elocution outlining her hidden bloodline, and her genetic connection to the Empire's darkest shadow.

In silence –  _silence_ , so it seemed – the galaxy – the media, key New Republic political actors, members of the military –  _reeled_ , or so she assumed – after all, she herself had reeled, had perhaps only recently found solid ground again, and so she assumed that the public world she'd grown up in the very heart of was lurching and staggering under the weight of the information.

The silence, though – it was not altogether unexpected, but it was maddeningly difficult to interpret – it worried Leia on a multifaceted level; it worried her Council, her advisors, her father – to the point that she began to ask herself if it had been foolish, unbearably foolish, to plan the press conference in such a way that she controlled the entire narrative – allowed for no questions, and provided only statements, and personal testimonies, from the family.

She stipulated – that there would be time for questions when her statements had settled; she wanted to give them that benefit – in a subtle way, she tried to implore them to think, rather than to rabidly shoot off at the mouth – she crafted things in such a way so that she gave her Vader declaration on the final day of the working week, and stepped back to observe, rather than immerse herself in work – and then the silence came, the nothing.

The careful attention of her plethora of advisors, assistances, and councilors had been hard-pressed to determine how the calm was going to break, how it was all going to explode when the working days began again, and in the stunned, almost shell-shocked nothingness the Media and the galaxy seemed to give her over the break days of the week, she existed in a suspended state of both hope, and impossible dread – wondering when the floodgates would disintegrate, anticipating the first brutal interrogation – she was on edge, all her neatly made plans and prospective statements clashing together in her head –

Early in the morning, the first day of the workweek post-press conference, she had set out for her office with no real indication of what, in all the hells imagined by beings throughout the galaxy, was waiting for her.

It was madness – chaos, mayhem, turmoil, and pandemonium – all of those significant words that defined  _uproar_  as poetically as it could be defined – and though she ran directly into a head-spinning barrage of screaming demands – it almost helped her breathe.

The courtesy the galaxy had done her – had done Luke, had done her father, and Han, and the Naberries – in holding off for a day or two while the knowledge sank in, saturating their thoughts and opinions – was no courtesy at all; it had left her almost bereft, at a loss for how to handle nothingness when she'd prepared for staggering eminence – she had lain awake that first night, wide-eyed, still, for a few brief hours asking herself what it would be like if – if no one cared, if the news blew over like brief afternoon rain on a sweltering summer day – and that naive indulgence was obliterated, blown to bits when the galaxy finally snapped back into their right minds.

Even so – even then, even with an awakening, and the sudden shriek of blowback to her announcement – primarily, it seemed that most beings wanted clarification; stiff, half-breathless questions were asked that were barely able to disguise the tone of their unspoken, less controlled question, which was –  _what the fuck did Princess Leia just reveal?_

The galaxy – ah, well, the core of the worlds, the majority of the populace, that is; Leia knew that in a galaxy so expansive, so impossibly large, there were worlds, and cultures, who did not involve themselves, did not care - but for her intents and purposes, for the centralized world she lived and worked in, the  _galaxy_  wanted to know if they'd heard right –

And in the midst of it, bright and early, shoulders set back, composure hardened and steeled, Leia drew on her own personal experience when it came to weathering this exact same revelation, and faced it with all of the meticulous, fortified grace she'd spent months preparing herself to embody.

She supposed – aside from the haunting silence that had followed the explosive press conference – that her assessment of the burgeoning ordeal as eerie was perhaps most accurate because – though she had braced herself for her personal reaction to the stress of it all, she found that as it began to unfold – she was ready.

Thus far – things made sense; things were – somewhat logical; a calm before a storm burst into a melee, and the onslaught of initial demands for statements or answers patterned exactly what she thought they might – her political acumen was validated and she was, she was –

Bolstered, almost; invigorated, by the fact that  _this was a political nightmare_  – gearing up to be – and  _she was trained to handle that._

Diplomatic, political, legislative – these sorts of prolific state scandals were her field of expertise –

She was sure it would turn personal, and yet for now, she could hold her own –

It was others –  _others_  she suddenly worried about; others like Han, whose temper she thought of when she scanned through a couple of headlines that were already referring to her as a  _bastard_  – mild, she thought, considering what they could call her, and might soon call her in the coming days.

She thought of Rouge, who had often reveled in breathy, high-class society gossip mills, but had never experienced anything on this large of a scale – of Winter, who was raised with Leia's diplomatic education, but none of the spotlight – she thought of her Alderaanians, her sweet, suffering people, so struggling to be resilient, and now bombarded with this – she was sure, at least some of them, must be suffering some identity crisis similar to the one she had experienced, as they tried to decide if House Organa had misled them, betrayed them – or protected them.

And she – she thought of Luke; as she slipped into her apartment, several hours too early, at a loss for what to do, gritting her teeth, tired and frustrated – the day had gone downhill so quickly, and even in the midst of all the things she was prepared for, and knew how to handle, inevitable anxiety burrowed into her heart, engaging in a stakeout there, as she began to anticipate the next few weeks.

_Luke_ , she thought, closing her eyes and leaning against the door – he'd come to her office for moral support, after lunch; he'd stood with her in one of the open courtyards, asking what she thought about everything so far – and there it was, the first instance –

Well, the first public instance of aggression;  _Leia_  had hit her first roadblocks precisely three hours and seven minutes after she arrived in her office, when her assistant quietly informed her that her morning meeting with a dignitary had been cancelled – at the dignitary's instance.

But Luke – Luke's first experience was when that young Falleen had come upon them in the courtyard, his eyes wide – and Luke had smiled at him in innocent greeting, while Leia's mind immediately went to the massacre Darth Vader had overseen on Falleen –

The memory of her brother's face when he'd been spit on was unlikely to fade anytime soon, and Leia reflected on that, and on the emptiness of her day – the emptiness of her upcoming week, from what it looked like – and she tilted her head back against the apartment door, and rather than let the frustration, and inarticulate mass of emotion marinate in the pit of her stomach, she closed her eyes and gave a short, loud, frustrated, scream.

The sound faded into the walls and decorations of her home, and she opened her eyes, lowering her head – she felt the immediate release of tension in her head and shoulders, a little immaturely satisfied feeling – sometimes there was nothing as ultimately liberating as a shriek of anger – perhaps the only type of recklessness a descendent of the one of the most sinister Sith Lords history had yet to see could afford.

She was staring forward, silent, when Han cautiously poked his head around the corner from in the kitchen.

Without fully emerging, her peered at her for a moment, only a small glimpse of his nose, eyes, and hair visible beyond the wall – and she couldn't quite tell if he was giving her one of his soft, amused smirks, or a frown, when he raised his brow a little and straightened back up, disappearing back into the kitchen.

She heard glasses clinking together, and then his voice, a deep, calm drawl –

"Welcome home, Sweetheart."

Leia bowed her head a moment, and broke into a relieved smile – she hadn't expected him to be here; she'd assumed he would bury himself in some hidden military hangar, or sequester at the  _Falcon_  – while he could, he was avoiding political news at her request – and this morning, she'd been taciturn and tense with her routine, distractedly kissing his cheek before she left.

She lifted her head – that she could come home, come home and slink into the apartment, let loose a hectic scream, and have him breeze over it like it was nothing, merely his Leia, being Leia, was a blessing she felt especially privileged to have.

She pushed away from the door and made her way slowly towards the kitchen, taking a deep breath – whatever he was cooking in there smelled like the beginnings of something delicious, and she tried not to start theorizing as to why he was home early – he was always back before her, anyway.

Leia shed her heeled shoes, and her cloak, loosening a few of the more intricate pins from her hair as she entered the kitchen. She found Han at work next to the stove, something bubbling lazily on one of the burners while he worked with a thin, sharp peeling knife and some fresh vegetables.

She leaned against the counter opposite him, her eyes fixed on his back, as she dropped the pins in her palms back and forth between hands for a moment. She set them aside, and then she absently hiked up her gown, inching off her stockings bit by bit while she quietly watched Han peel.

She twisted her stockings casually around her hands, pulled tight, and then let them loose expertly, flicking them at the back of his head. They slung around his neck haphazardly, and Han half-whirled around, reaching up to grab at them.

He gave her a slightly amused look.

"What'd these poor stockings do to you?" he quipped.

Leia shrugged.

"My dark side coming out," she fired back dryly.

Han have a jerk of his wrist, sliding the stockings off of him and dropping them to the floor. He looked at her intently for a long moment, and then turned back to peeling vegetables.

Leia shifted her weight, resting back on her heels. She sighed.

"You're home early," she remarked. Her brow furrowed a little, and she backtracked slightly – "Are you?" she asked. "Home early?" Perhaps he was done with his assignments for the day – unless it concerned a deployment, Leia avoided knowing too much about Han's work day; she was careful to avoid looking like she handed him things, or put herself in situations where she could be accused of favoritism or impropriety.

Han shrugged.

He picked up a sliced piece of a pepper and bit it off his thumb, chewing it thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I'm early," he agreed. "Most of the mornin', I was in closed briefs with Rieekan and other of your people," he shrugged again, "about the military and – not talkin' to press. Military neutrality," he muttered.

"My people?" Leia asked softly.

Han grunted.

"Carlist pulled in all the Alderaanian soldiers and pilots," Han waved vaguely, "anyone in the military who was Alderaanian, and the Rogues who are here, made his opinion on everything clear, goin' forward," he said.

Leia placed her hands behind her, gripping the counter.

"How was that?" she ventured neutrally, keeping herself steady.

Han shifted back and forth, and then reached over to adjust a temperature on something, scattering peppers into the boiling water on the stove. He picked up a fresh root vegetable and looked at it for a moment before answering.

"Hell, to tell the truth, didn't seem like any of 'em really believed it," he said flatly. Leia saw his jaw move as he frowned. "Figure Dansra said it best, she told 'em if it hadn't sunk in yet, to just remember, when it does, that they never cared who you parents were before."

Leia compressed her lips – faithful Dansra. She relaxed her shoulders a little, tilting her head at Han's cooking project.

"Then Carlist gave me a ten minute lecture about keepin' my cool and not goin' off like a thermal detonator if anyone looks at you funny," he drawled.

"And your response?" Leia asked.

"Told 'im to fuck off but – real friendly," Han joked.

She smiled faintly, leaning back, slouching. She took a deep breath.

"What are you cooking?" she asked in a small voice.

Han turned around, still holding half a vegetable, and a knife. He looked over her intently, as if trying to gauge – really gauge – what mood she was in, how her day had unfolded –  _what was going on._

She seemed okay; she seemed at eerily at  _ease_  – Leia's little screaming routine was, despite how counterintuitive it seemed, usually an indication that she'd had a harrowing, but bearable day – it wasn't something she did when she was in the midst of an unstable, anxious period. With Leia - if she wasn't talking to him, wasn't being effusive with her emotions - then there was a bigger problem.

He didn't answer her question about dinner.

"You  _are_  home early," he pointed out in a low voice. That, he was sure of – he always expected Leia late, and he had assumed her nights would get later now – what with damage control on the horizon.

She lifted her shoulders, taking a deep, quiet breath. She seemed to reflect for a moment, and then she looked at him through her lashes, a grimace of resignation touching her lips.

"I had nothing to do," she told him dully.

Han arched his brows, tossing the legume in his hand up in the air and catching it. He tilted his head at her a moment, waiting. His brow furrowed –

"You had nothing - ?" he started warily.

"My meetings were cancelled," Leia said bluntly, "one by one," she continued calmly, "not at my insistence."

She tapped her fingers gently on the counter, holding her head up – she felt small admitting it, as small as she'd felt every time Tavska, with her unreadable expression, and her loyal eyes, had relayed the information to Leia – and now, again, Leia tried to remind herself –  _this is politics; this is their way of battening down the hatches, devising a game plan, seeing who is going to do what, and who is going to react how, before they make a move_ –

Her logical reasoning helped a little, but the emotional hit was still significant – Han's account of the Alderaanian military reaction gave her some relief, but in the silence of her office today she'd felt a taste of – the misery that would come, if she lost all support – lost all support because of the sins of her genetic father, when she had proved, time and time again, that she was his polar opposite –

Hadn't she?

Han looked at a loss for a moment.

"People are going to stand by you, Leia," he said.

She gave him a vague smile – for once, he sounded like he was trying to convince himself, rather than confidently reassuring her. He looked over her again, his eyes lingering, and he noticed – the material of her gown was darker at the neck, as if it had been wet recently.

It was a stain – he stared at the stain on her collar, and then looked closer, his brow furrowing. He put down his knife and wiped his palm on his trousers, scrubbing off vegetable juice and drying his hand.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing at it tensely, narrowing his eyes.

Leia have a little flick of her shoulders. She twitched her eyes down at the spot he was pointing at - she already knew what he noticed - and rolled her eyes a little.

"Saliva," she said coolly.

Han gave her a sharp look.

"It's what?"

"Saliva," Leia repeated. "Someone," she said delicately, "spit on me."

Han stared at her for a moment. Then, he pressed his lips together tightly, moved past her, and grabbed a hand towel. Without a word, he turned on the sink, ran warm water over it, and wrung it out.

He stepped closer to her and started smoothing the wet cloth over the stain, running it up over her neck at the line between her collar and her gown. He used the action to give himself a moment to calm down, because anger flared in his chest, and his fingers started to itch, aching to curl into fists and exact revenge – if he could find the culprit.

He thought of Rieekan warning him he had to keep any of his reactions under wraps – and the Viceroy, and Winter, and so many others had advised him of that, as well, leading up to all of this – but he looked at the stain, and her skin, and he didn't know if he'd make it through all of this as honorably as they wanted him to.

Leia tilted her head back.

"Your skin is red and flaky," he said hollowly. "What species spit on you?"

Leia gave a small shrug. She'd didn't respond; she didn't want to get into the weeds, start flinging accusations and targeting Han's mind at a specific threat. Right now, she focused on Han's hands, gently prodding away the nastiness of the afternoon.

"Looks okay," Han muttered, examining her skin, holding the towel away from her skin.

He set it down behind her, and gave her a long look.

"Don't have a stroke, Han," she soothed softly. "It didn't hurt me."

"Physically," Han said roughly.

Leia blew air out through her lips shakily. She lifted her shoulders.

"I've been spit on before," she said.

Han leaned forward and touched her shoulder, running his thumb in circles over her arm. He took a breath like he was trying to calm down, and lowered his head to kiss her collarbone; right at the edge of her clothing, where no doubt she'd wiped filth off of her when she got into her speeder.

Leia reached up and held his head to her closely, sliding her fingers through his hair. She turned her face towards his cheek, holding back tears easily – there would be plenty of reasons to cry in the coming weeks, she wouldn't waste time doing it so early on.

He kissed her shoulder again, kissed her jaw, and then straightened up a little, touching her hip, and leaning forward into her. He touched her cheek, and then held her chin in his hands, his eyes boring into hers sincerely. He gave her a long, intent look.

"I love you," he said. "Love you so much, Sweetheart."

It helped him center himself on her, and their relationship, rather than start to spiral down into a dark abyss of dread, anticipating how much worse it was going to get it – if it had barely been three days, and she was being spit on, there were old colleagues refusing to see her –

Leia smiled faintly, her eyes softening. She reached up and grasped his arm lightly with both of her hands.

"You're alright," she quipped softly.

That's how it always was with them. Never  _'I love you, too'_ \- always something else; something quick, clever, but more meaningful than a simple –  _me too._

He kissed her on the lips, and she took a moment to slid her arms around his hips, passive in the moment, letting him kiss her while she just – took it, absorbed it, was comforted. He pulled back, gave her a stony look.

"You've got a right to hit back," he said.

"No one hit me," Leia said calmly.

"Spitting on you is assault," Han said flatly. "You know what spitting around an Imperial superior got you in the academy?  _Lashes_ ," he said stiffly. "It's assault."

Leia breathed in once, out evenly.

"In the grand scheme of things, it is minor," she said, again with that calm, diplomat's tone. "It is not one of the things I am going to react to, and I have been – "

"I know you've been spit on before," Han interrupted sharply. " _I_ know in what context, and that's why I'm sayin' it's not  _minor_ , and you've got a right to – "

"Han, I mean I've been spit on by political opponents before," Leia interrupted, just as sharp – she blinked rapidly. "I wasn't talking about – why did you go there?" she asked. "Why did you – bring that up?"

Han looked appalled, taken aback.

"I thought – I didn't," he shook his head. He straightened up a little and reached up to cover his mouth.

Leia lifted her eyes and glanced away, her expression complicated. She turned back, and cleared her throat.

"It's alright," she said quietly.

Han's shoulders fell roughly.

"Sweetheart, I don't care what the circumstances are, you can't just let – "

"I'm not  _letting_  anyone – do not," Leia raised her hand, "do  _not_ suggest I allow – "

"Fine _, I_  can't let!" Han corrected. "I'll lose my mind," he growled. "I don't want anyone to – I know you can deal with their words, Leia, but if I'm supposed to behave," he fumbled for a moment. "I know you can protect yourself, so – kriff, I'm worried that if you do your stoic thing for the small stuff, someone'll really hurt you!"

"What is anyone going to do to me that's worse than what's already been done?" Leia scoffed.

" _Kill_  you, Leia, I'm afraid they'll kill you!"

Leia grit her teeth tensely. She swallowed hard, her shoulders tensing.

"I can't be violent right now! I can't be harsh!" she burst out stiffly, her voice strained. "I have to be more Alderaanian than ever – I have to embody pacifism, and kindness and – anything that clearly delineates me from Vader, anything about Vader! In these coming days – I will be watched more closely, and judged more harshly, than ever before – to some extent, I'll never escape comparisons to Vader, or the stigma people will inevitably attach to me, but these next few weeks are vital, Han," she implored.

She bit her lip, and gave a nod to punctuate her statement.

"They're  _vital_ ," she repeated. "It isn't just me – you can't be violent, because I won't be able to hush it up, or cut you slack – I cannot be seen as vengeful, or dark – I can't be seen as corrupt or willing to cut anyone a break – I have to be so perfect right now," she gasped, "no mistakes."

"You're human," Han snapped. "That's too much pressure to put on yourself!" he implored.

Leia's expression cracked a little, and she looked incredulous.

"I know," she moaned, "but it will settle – it will start to become a part of the zeitgeist, like everything does, we'll stop being paralyzed - but right now, it's starting," she said hoarsely, "and the scrutiny is going to be insufferable."

She reached out and placed her hands on his neck.

"I have to be visibly strong, and reliable, and in control – I can do it, Han," she assured him soothingly. "I was raised to do this. And I know who I am," she promised. She sighed. "I know you're going to have a hard time," she acknowledged. "I've got you, and Luke," she trailed off. "It'll wear off."

The question still remained – as to where she would be, professionally, when it all did start to settle and become old news – but she would confront that reality when she was out of this proverbial asteroid field.

"I'm not having a hard time," Han grumbled flippantly.

Leia nodded. She threaded her fingertips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"It's going to be hard," she soothed quietly.

She just wasn't sure Han had been hit with the full force of it yet – she'd seen the daunted worry in his eyes in the moments before the press conference – the strange thing was, Han was one of the most jaded, skeptical, hardened people she'd ever met, but when it came to Leia – he seemed to truly believe no one could dislike her or deliberately do her wrong –

Han's lack of respect for, and interest in, politics contributed to his overall ignorance of the special kind of bloodthirsty and barbaric they could be.

Han tilted his head. He nodded a few times. He shot a dirty look at the stain on her collar, and he straightened up.

"Is my dinner burning?" Leia teased softly, tilting up her chin playfully.

Han strode back a bit, reaching behind him to lower the temperature on the stove. He looked at her silently for a long time, and then smiled a little wryly, and turned on his heel, leaving the kitchen as if he were on a mission.

Leia pursed her lips and watched him go, her brow furrowing. She cocked her head, listening for movement – and then she heard low music coming from the living room – and then she heard it get louder.

She parted her lips, curious, and a few moments later, she pushed away from the counter, giving Han's abandoned cooking project a last look, and ventured into the living room – and there was Han, adjusting the genre of music on the holo, his collar loosened, a determined look on his face.

He turned to look at her, and then lifted his foot, shoving a table out of the way, up against the wall with the sofa. He lunged forward, took her hand, and spun her forward – Leia laughed, caching her breath. She looked up at him, feigning suspicion.

"What are you up to, General Solo?"

He drew her closer dramatically.

"Listen, Sweetheart, is this is the  _beginning_  of how bad it's gonna get, you're gonna spend the night dancin' with me."

Leia bit back a laugh.

"And how will that help?"

Han shrugged good-naturedly.

"You seemed to have a good time dancin' at our wedding."

"I was tipsy," Leia whispered loudly.

Han spun her in one direction, and laced his fingers into hers.

"Hell, we've got wine, whiskey," he listed, nodding towards their kitchen.

Leia leaned forward to rest her head on him, sliding her hand under his shirt, resting her palm against his bare back – and for the most part, she gave into the evening, to his distracting, to laughing – for the most part, because there was a part of her that still worried for Luke, for the disillusionment that was coming for him, as much as it was coming for Han – and she worried that he had no one to go home to, and she worried that he wouldn't come to her if he needed her.

* * *

Luke was tired – and that was a feeling he was almost pleasantly used to. Considering he spent more time in deep, trance-like meditation than he did in restful sleep, he was accustomed to a sort of balanced, plateaued feeling of fatigue.

He was somewhat unaccustomed to the exhaustion he was feeling now – this was not the charming bone-ache of being constantly attuned to the Force, always awash with the life of surrounding beings – this was just plain, average, human  _worn out._

And this – this was what Leia grimly warned was – the  _beginning_?

Luke had faced accusations of naiveté before, from Leia herself, even – but he had never quite taken it to heart, choosing instead to remind her, and himself, that he was not naïve because he was optimistic, and reconciliatory – yet in the face of the festering response to Leia's public confirmation of their heritage, he felt more callow and guileless than he had since he failed Yoda's first test on Dagobah.

_Cancelled meetings –_ Leia, who was more often than not so busy she could hardly get home to eat dinner at a decent hour, was finding herself in limbo, subject to a schedule that was suddenly and glaringly emptying – and that was only in these first few days – there was that, there was –

The strange sense of fear Luke sensed from his own military colleagues, even those who would never think ill of him – he could tell they abruptly saw his awe-inspiring Force sensitivity as a dangerous weapon; it was as if some of them had only just now connected the fact that the Sith and the Jedi utilized the  _same_  Force, and not some divergent species of it.

He had noticed – that while his fellow Rogues made an effort to bluster and carryon, making do like nothing had happened – making a convincing show of conveying to others that they did not change their opinions of Luke – he noticed that they shot him sidelong glances; wariness, or perhaps even a hint of betrayal, in their eyes.

Luke refrained from reading their thoughts and emotions, from soothing their taciturn nerves with a touch of reassurance – he wanted to be trusted, with his power; he wanted to show he was the same Luke, respecting them, equal to them – working with them as anyone else did, when he wasn't off on his exploratory missions.

Ah, and the  _spitting_  – mundane, painfully unoriginal, and yet somehow vastly shocking; Leia seemed unperturbed by the act – which had, these handful of days later, happened more than once – and yet Luke found it startling in every sense of the word: an abrasive act, a demeaning act, somehow both personal and impersonal, and even as he wrestled with the abashment that came with it, he hated how it caught him off guard and disheartened him, because that left Leia focusing on him to soothe him, and he wanted to be the last worry on her mind.

Trudging – though Jedi did not trudge, Luke allowed himself one this evening – slowly up to the door of his simple, scarcely lived in apartment on Coruscant, he became aware with swift certainty that his privacy had been breached. Almost immediately upon touching his palm to the access lock on his door, he recognized a familiar presence – his brow furrowed, and he paused.

He stared at the closed door for a long moment, contemplating what he was feeling – an unexpected guest, though in a way, he was not surprised at all – she was the single soul on his  _side_ , so to speak, who had been privy to what was coming –

Luke pressed his palm gently into the reader, finishing the unlock sequence, and tapped his code in, slipping in quickly and allowing the door to whistle shut behind him softly. His apartment was small; the entrance opened up directly a room that was a lounge area on one side, and a neat kitchen nook on the other – directly in front of him was a path that narrowed into a hallway, leading back to his bedroom and bath.

His attention fixed on the sofa, as it were, where he expressed no shock, and only a mild sense of interest, when he found her sitting there as if she owned it – worn, tanned leather boots up on a metal table, emerald flight jacket tossed over a chair – vibrant, eternally knotted red hair loose and unkempt and provocative.

Luke studied her for a long time, tilting his head to the side with a slight uplift of his brow – the last time he had seen her – they'd been somewhere in the wilds of Dathomir, digging through long-ruined records; he'd been fascinated with the lore, the knowledge they were on the verge of uncovering, and she'd been taken with the native witches – and how they tamed beasts ten times their size.

He could easily remember the vein of their last conversation – in between his time in the Nubian lake country, and Leia's explosive press conference –

_Do you know why the Emperor wanted you to turn so badly? –_  she had asked.

_Power,_  Luke had said solemnly –  _the power of the darks side corrupts –_

_Spare me your philosophy, Skywalker, it was fear, not power – if you broke through Vader's enslavement, Sidious lost – and if he killed you, Vader would do what Sith always do – kill the master –_

_Happened anyway,_  Luke murmured –

_Perspective,_  she had bit out sharply –  _if that hulking black masked sadist had humanity in his core, then I have this nasty feeling like I should be a better woman –_

_You are a better woman._

She had shrugged at him in her callous, warrior way, but what struck him more than anything was her lack of interest in his bloodline –  _Vader was your father? Seems implausible but I sense no deception – for a very long time, I believed Sidious was mine._

Luke had stared at her, alarmed, while she bowed her head and folded her hands, a mocking sort of curtsy –  _a Sith Princess, to kill the one in white – it was all a lie, though,_ she said, dull –  _I don't know what family he stole me from._

He had wondered if she would go off in search of those lost relatives while he returned home for a while to be at Leia's side – his work with her was so – private, enlightening, so integral to his own education in the Force, yet he desperately needed his breaks, for the reasons he'd told his newfound grandmother about months ago, on Naboo –

Yet here she was.

"Mara," Luke greeted finally, his tone mild.

She tilted her head back, her chin rising sternly to acknowledge the greeting – she blinked at him, thick lashes shading her eyes for a moment – green eyes, the brightest he'd ever seen, like fluorescent poison behind delicate glass.

"Darth Sunshine," she replied finally.

Her voice was so effortlessly unreadable; somehow deep and musical at the same time, and Luke was torn between giving a stoic grimace at the title, or rolling his eyes, and trying to make light of it –

It was a headline Leia had struggled to hide from him, though he didn't know how she figured she'd be able to, what with the ubiquity of the holos –  _Luke Skywalker, handsome darling of the Rogues, reveals dark heritage – what does one call a blue-eyed, moisture farmer with a grand Sith Inheritance – Darth Sunshine._

It was macabre. It was mockery, and satirical, but Luke found it frightening, and grim – he was grateful that on some level, there were outlets that did not fear him - -but he was wounded that they thought the tragedy of his family such a farce, that they though it so simple – and he knew it hurt Leia; never in her life had Leia found Anakin Skywalker's fate to be amusing.

He settled for pinching his nose at her with a withering glare.

"I see you've suddenly taken an interest in politics," he quipped – he'd never quite known Mara Jade to keep up with the ins and outs of holo chatter.

She inclined her head with a small smile, her expression gallant.

"Out of concern for you, Master Luke," she retorted smoothly.

Luke did grimace at that, his lips quirking up.

"You aren't supposed to call me that," he reminded her. "We're equals."

"Ah, but it makes you blush like an angel of Iego on her wedding night."

"You would know," Luke retorted.

"Not quite; I never did marry her."

"You're in a glittering mood," he noted.

" _Glittering_?" she quoted, with a distasteful frown. "You say things like that, Skywalker, and I feel the need to open whiskey bottles with my teeth to counteract the appalling femininity of what you've implied."

Luke smiled a little wryly.

"I'd prefer just  _Luke_ , today," he said, a tired look crossing his face. "I have a hunch the Media nicknames will – worsen."

She shrugged again.

"Sure, Lu," she answered, deadpan – and Luke grinned, shaking his head in acceptance – it would do.

He loosened the collar of his black – no, it was tan; tan tunic. He shook his head a little, jumping at the colour – he usually wore black, preferred it even, but Leia insisted he dispense with it for a while –  _You can't wear black – Leia, it's just a colour – there is no such thing as just anything; everything is critical right now, Luke - !_

So he tucked away black, and wore the sandy khakis he'd favored back at the Lars homestead, and he was sure that somewhere, behind her cool eyes and calm façade, Mara was gathering together a handful of clever, stinging jokes about that as well.

His shoulders relaxed – slumped – as he trudged forward, sidestepping the table Mara had her feet up on, and eying an empty seat next to her on the couch. He considered asking to join her – and then remembered he lived here.

"You didn't have to come," he told her tiredly, confidently taking a seat on his sofa. He ran a hand through his hair and frowned a little, glancing towards his sparsely stocked kitchen.

"I rarely 'have' to do anything," she responded matter-of-factly. "I make most of my decisions based on personal desire."

Luke sighed wryly, briefly thinking of the numerous times they'd debated their personal beliefs – his penchant for sacrifice, juxtaposed with her penchant for living to fight another day.

"Well, we still have that to work on," he remarked.

"So says you," she retorted. She tilted her head back, and looked over at him, her eyes sharp. "Your light side of the Force."

"Your side, too," he answered gently. "You know you're capable of it."

"I still prefer neutrality."

"Your neutrality is more self-centered," he argued. "You claim you want neutrality, but neutral parties help arbitrate peace between those who are in the grip of emotion – your neutrality is – "

"I know my own neutrality," Mara said smoothly.

He caught her eye, and arched his brow. She smiled wryly, and Luke put his knuckles against his jaw, swallowing his pontifications – he could spiral into hours of back-and-forth with Mara on the intricacies of the living Force, and yet he found himself, for once – not in the mood.

His faith was unstable; he felt downtrodden with dread – the way the galaxy started to turn daunted, accusatory eyes on him – was this all a mistake, regardless of what Leia said? If all this did were reinvigorate a fear of the Jedi, his dreams of reviving the order would be ashes –

Luke swallowed hard, and gave her a short glance, clearing his throat.

"I have nothing to offer you – icebox is empty, no snacks – "

"You think I broke into your apartment for snacks?"

He sighed, head rested on his palm, gazing at her. He shook his head tensely – and thought, dryly, that if Mara wanted snacks, she'd have had them in hand when he walked in. No – she was here for something else, and he opened his senses to it.

"Why  _are_  you here?" he mumbled.

She turned her head, facing away from him, staring straight ahead. She seemed to think over her answer for a moment – and then she breathed out simply, pursing her lips.

"I was curious," she said flatly. She looked cynical. "I suppose I wanted to see the fallout of your sister's foolishness unfold in real time."

"It isn't foolishness," Luke chastised softly. "It's hope."

She lifted her shoulder slightly, almost dismissively. She had been – incredulous, when Luke had explained the plan Leia devised for revealing the information. Aggressively private and almost violently shy about her personal life, Mara's alarm at the public discussion of family was still sharp.

"And you," she said, turning to him again, her green eyes vibrant and intent. "I wanted to see you faced with the fallout," she said honestly. "What do you think of Sentients now, Luke?" she probed. "The people you fought for," she reached out and plucked at his shoulder, the stained fabric there, "are spitting on you."

He looked at her placidly, silent for a long time – of course she had noticed; of course she knew – perhaps she'd even watched as a growing mount of press shouted at him for comments as he went around his daily laugh; perhaps she'd been watching the Holos this afternoon, when a Senator from a former Imperial stronghold had been asked how he felt about the announcement, and had joked that he got along well with Princess Leia's father, and he'd certainly be keeping his meetings with her.

Luke's expression was gentle.

"They'll learn," he said simply – with quieter faith than usual, but faith all the same.

She stared at him in disbelief – and then a little smile crossed her lips, as if she thought he was both crazy, and the most honorable person she'd ever come across – it was possible that she'd wanted to hear him say he hadn't lost his faith in people, or his belief in what he was trying to teach her all along – that the Force's goal was unity and peace, and allowing it to guide her in the light would benefit the world around them –

Luke saw her mane of red hair fall forward as she moved, and he was still startled, his eyes wide open, piercing into hers, when she pressed her lips to his, resting her hand first on his chest, and then sliding it lower to grip against his hip bone.

Luke placed a hand on her neck, ducking his head forward to automatically return pressure to the kiss, and then his eyes fluttered, and he gasped, drawing back an inch or two –

"Mara," he mumbled huskily.

She stroked one hand over the back of his neck, and pressed her lips to his again, giving him a small, encouraging wink – before she closed her eyes. The angle of her body next to his was irrational, twisted and uncomfortable, and then in the next moment her boots came off the table in front of them and she shifted onto his lap. Luke held her waist in his palms with startled reverence, distracted into the kiss.

His thoughts evened out for a moment, going silent and blank – how many times had he considered this, despite their working, learning relationship – had he been less subtle than he thought, or had she conceived of her own feelings for him, sought him out while he refrained – apprehension whispered in the back of his mind, not about her, but about the timing – the meaning of it – and yet a part of him gave into her, relieved, so relieved, that he'd come home to her.

This was – fresh, though; unexpected – and what Luke found he wanted was someone to come home to, and that required a clear line drawn with Mara –

_Mara_ , he thought, easing forward and reaching up to slide his hand over her neck.

She pressed him back into the sofa, and he sat up again, drawing back from the kiss slowly –  _Mara_ , he thought again, stopping her.

Looking down on him from his lap, her lips inches from his, she lifted her chin a little, her expression content.

"This is physical, Luke," she advised huskily. "None of that," she reached up and tapped her temple lightly, and then tapped his –  _no telepathy –_

"No?" Luke asked quietly. "That sentiment sounds a lot like the age-old rule of hookers: no kissing on the mouth."

Mara blinked at him sharply. Her expression was stern, and annoyed, and her voice suddenly echoed through his conscious, though her lips did not move  _– I just kissed you on the mouth._

Luke laughed, tilting his head back. His hands fell to her shoulders, where they lingered in her hair, and then down to her ribs, holding her delicately. He took a moment to appreciate how good she felt on his lap, how perfect her hips seemed to fit into the cradle of his, and then he cleared his throat, and took a moment to forget it, lifting his head and catching her eye seriously.

"I'm trying to make a point," he said.

"Make it," Mara ordered.

He breathed in, and breathed out.

"You ought to get off of my lap for this."

"I don't think I will."

Luke snorted – he might have expected that.

He grimaced at himself – moments like these; he envied Leia's verbosity. She always knew what to say – even when she was disoriented and falling apart, furious and upset, she articulated things; she certainly had when she fought with her father for Han, and when she sparred with Luke himself over their views of Vader.

"Let me gather my thoughts," he requested – he scrambled slowly to do so.

He had come home exhausted, his skin crawling with anxiety, starting to feel a deep worry over the next few weeks and the future of his endeavors for the Jedi. He worried, too, for Leia, and for Han – for their family; he worried for the Naberries, both Pooja and Ruwee, here on Coruscant, and the others, safely protected by security Leia had personally selected from her contractors.

He didn't want to use Mara to take his mind off the swirling chaos that was brewing over the Vader legacy, the Vader reveal – he'd had intimate thoughts about Mara that were not singularly lustful, but colourful and romantic – the stirrings of interest that felt, sharply, like he'd be in love with her in a heartbeat, if she let him know her, and yet pursuing that risked jeopardizing what they could do for the restoration of the Jedi –

The personal and the professional, so to speak, conflicted in him, and yet here he sat, Mara willing – and he was daunted by the idea of having it out with her emotionally; it seemed wildly out of line to tell her he wanted nothing with her, or possibly everything, because what kind of man terrified a woman like that – he hadn't had so much as a date with Mara, but he contemplated telling her – that he wouldn't sleep with her, because he didn't want it to be one night, or even one month.

Loudly, Han's voice suddenly snapped through his ears – Luke had asked him, offhand, absorbed by his increasing interest in Mara –  _Han, you ever fall in love with someone you never, you know, touched? Been with? Is that possible?_

Han had been distracted, doing something in the kitchen while Leia paced the living room, arguing with Winter and Evaan over how to handle something within the Diaspora – he'd pointed at Leia without a word, nodding, and then, when he realized Luke was still waiting, looked up, said –  _She was the first. She's the last – figure that means somethin' 'eh?"_

Luke thought it unusually cryptic for the smuggler at the time, but now he wondered if Han had somehow figured it all out, that easily; his foundation with his wife was unbreakably strong because it wasn't built on the physical.

"Luke," Mara said shortly, touching his jaw brusquely with the tips of her fingers. "Most men fall asleep  _after_ wards."

Luke blinked.

"'M not asleep," he protested.

"Gathering those thoughts?" she quipped. "They ought to be profound," she challenged.

Luke tilted his head and studied her for a moment, still gathering – harvesting – doing what he needed to do to his  _thoughts_.

" _How_  did you get in, anyway?" Luke asked her suddenly, redirecting the conversation in the most unexpected of ways – and she sat back, her weight shifting from his hips, to the tops of his thighs.

Mara gave him a somewhat distracted look. She blinked.

"I asked the door," she answered simply.

Luke tilted his head curiously.

"Huh?" he grunted, inarticulate. He quirked a brow at her. Mara leaned forward, mimicking his cocked brow, and then smirked.

"I spoke with the door," she confided wryly. "I – politely asked the Force to guide me towards the access code, and your door complied."

Luke looked startled, his eyes widening.

" _What?_ " he asked. "You just asked – and the Force thought, 'Sure, Mara, asking me to break you into Luke's apartment is an excellent use of power – '"

Mara blinked at him sagely.

"Maybe the Force is trying to tell you something," she said cryptically.

Luke gave her a skeptical look, his lips quirking up at her deviant smile.

"I don't think the Force is telling me to sleep with you."

Mara gave a sharp shrug.

"Why not?"

Her eyes blazed, and Luke was on the verge of a sly remark when he realized – she was serious; she sought an answer to that, and he stopped in his tracks, taken aback – why not?

_Why not – ?_

"I don't think the Force concerns itself with the intimate personal lives of – "

"Do you not?" Mara challenged seriously. "Do you not think the Force was there when your sister made her intimate personal choices?" she quoted his terminology. "You tell me that you two have a stronger connection to this entity than anyone, and you don't think it ensured she found the right one, when there were so many suitors?"

Luke stared at her, his eyes fixed on hers, blue on green, silenced, and taken aback. He looked at her intently for a long time, contemplating that – imagining Han's annoyance at the idea that he was fated for a princess, and Leia's dismissive scoff at the idea that a little magic gave her something she built with her bare hands.

He grinned, and Mara's eyes flashed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she demanded.

She lifted her hands and folded them – now perched on his lap, but indignant.

"Well," Luke began delicately. "You see – ah, because even my sister doesn't talk about her relationship like it's a god-ordained fairytale," he teased lightly. "I never took you for a romantic."

"You've yet to take me at all," Mara pointed out glibly, and then dipped her head lower, her voice softening. "Why?" she went on. "Because I was a bounty hunter, because I was in the trenches with the Sith?" she asked. "Because I carry a gun and hard liquor with the same skill, wear cheap leather boots instead of heels, because I'm abrasive – cold?"

Luke was silent – with a bit of wonder, captivated, listening. He flushed slightly, tacitly admitting that – perhaps he had thought all of that. He looked at her quizzically – the thing was, Mara's past had some of the nastiest demons he'd heard of; Mara had done heinous things to survive, she'd done reprehensible things as the Emperor's assassin, and she'd been a brutal vigilante when he came across her – fighting for justice in her way, wielding the Force like Death's scythe, rather than a symbiotic entity.

He'd expected – what he had expected –

He had expected walls; resistance – he was no stranger to damaged women; his own sister had experienced trauma so severe that she still had trouble softening her edges; she still protected herself with a sharp tongue, and aloof countenance, walls around her heart that, even these days, only Han seemed to get behind – and Luke had assumed it was that way with all women who had been hurt.

And yet –

"You may not have changed my opinion of power and governments and the way the world works, Luke, not yet," Mara said intently, "but you changed my opinion of men."

She was quiet a moment.

"You're not like the ones I knew," she said, and fell silent again. "You're the son of Vader," she said shortly, "and you've forgiven him. You brought light to the darkest soul in the galaxy," she said quietly – "I know. I grew up in his shadow."

Luke reached for her arm, resting his palm on her wrist. He tugged at it a little, and slipped his hand into her crossed arms, finding her fingers, intertwining his with hers – she accepted it in a firm grip, her eyes still boring into his.

He felt relaxed, sharing that secret with her – he'd told Mara ages ago, to bridge trust, because he didn't have what Leia had in terms of confidants, and he couldn't talk to Leia about Vader in the ways he wanted to. Mara was a better sounding board for Luke's specialized interest in Vader – and he knew Leia would likely be furious if she knew he'd brought someone unknown to her, un-vetted, into the fold, but he did it anyway because – as much as he loved Leia, no matter how they came to respect and understand each other regarding this, they'd always feel differently about Vader.

Mara was – different, less morally stringent than Leia. Luke was morally stringent, of course, but not when it came to his mission to bring all beings into the light: he saw redemption as a second chance at life, and Leia's view of redemption could often result in a just death.

Mara swallowed hard, dipping her head pointedly.

"I was raised not to have attachments, and it robbed me of my humanity," she reflected, "and I don't want that anymore," she said simply.

She was quiet a long time.

"I'd like to be in love with you," she said shortly – with matter-of-fact finality, and Luke let out a harsh breath, beaten to the punch – when he'd just almost gathered his thoughts enough to try and explain that he didn't want some light affair, the kind that normally peppered his lonely nights, she already knew.

She tilted her head thoughtfully, eyes glimmering.

"You're being wooed," she informed him firmly.

Luke laughed a little hoarsely.

"Mara," he said slowly, breathing out. "Slow down."

She thought about that quietly, falling silent, and Luke leaned back tiredly, taking a few deep breaths. He nodded to himself, and closed his eyes, deciding to let her search his feelings –  _this all has to blow over before you and I explore this –_

"You complicate things," Mara murmured tersely.

He looked up boldly.

"This is a struggle I wasn't prepared for," he admitted bravely – Leia had prepped him; in the same way that Leia had prepped the Naberries, and Han, and all key political actors – and yet the actual reality hit in different ways.

Luke felt small, and silly, when he was suddenly faced with the reminder that Vader had choked the galaxy with fear and tyranny – the reaction was firing up in way that starkly brought to light the way the average person had felt towards Vader, and Luke was grappling with how to integrate that into his own personal peace with his fallen and redeemed father.

It was like hearing Leia's perspective on a grand scale, and Luke could see how his forgiveness of his father might twist and turn into making him an apologist for Vader, and that was a dark, unsteady path to take, a bad one for him to navigate, and for Leia, as well –

"She isn't the only one affected," Mara broke into his thoughts suddenly, curt, and loud. "Luke, everything you do is not an extension of what Leia wants – "

"It isn't that," Luke said sharply. "Leia and I have different interests, different ideas about making the galaxy a better place. I don't have a place in the political apparatus; she does. In some respects, her part in this particular issue is more important – she can do good for this galaxy, and I don't want to see her torn down, or devastated."

"Fair," Mara agreed. "Understandable – Leia Organa runs the galaxy," she said flippantly. "You aren't obligated to be at her command with this – to put me on hold, your work with the Force, and finding sensitives – "

Luke sighed shortly, growing slightly frustrated.

"You came back; you were with her for the press conference. It's her circus now," Mara said coolly.

"Mara, my sister's important to me. You can't be so dismissive."

"I take no issue with your sister," she said coolly. "I think her profession is useless. I think there's an element of selfish ego to her pronouncement."

Luke grit his teeth.

"What I'm saying is – I know it seems, when we're off together, like I exist in a Jedi vacuum but – I do have family, and a place in the Republic, and they're important to me."

He paused, and then said again –

"They're important to me. Leia, Han – the Organas, the Naberries; they're all important to me. I want to be here for them. It might be easier to – run off with you and shut it all out," he shook his head: "but I'm not a coward. Leia has to face the brunt of this and I, in some respects," he sighed. "I need a healthy dose of hearing the stories of what my father did to this world. Perspective."

_Perspective_  – it was one of Mara's favorite words – and sometimes, because of that, Luke wished Ben would show his face once in a while, to share that camaraderie with her –  _what I said is true, from a certain point of view._

Mara was contemplative, and then she nodded. Her expression was hard to decipher, and she leaned closer, touching Luke's jaw with her cool hand, running her thumb along his cheek affectionately.

"I want to stay here," she said simply. "I want to see how this world treats you," she seemed skeptical, but receptive. "I want to see if you're right – if it's hope, rather than foolishness."

"You can stay here," Luke murmured. " _Here_."

He hesitated.

"It would be – I'd like to introduce you to Leia and Han – "

Mara made a grumbling noise, and Luke smiled wryly.

"You and Han will get along, at least," he said – deep down, he wasn't very confident in Leia and Mara having a good relationship, and that held him back a little. "He feels about the same way as you about Leia's profession – "

"That guy," Mara said dismissively. "Solo - he seems like a bore."

"He's gotten a little better; he can use the right fork now, and he doesn't swear at dignitaries – "

"I mean boring, not – ah, swine," Mara sniffed. "I never see him doing anything but staring at her."

Luke gave her an indulgent look, and then shook his head.

"Mara," he sighed. "I hate to break this to you, but you've been staring at me for the better part of an hour."

The redhead gave a short sniff, tilting her head fetchingly.

"I suppose I'm your scoundrel, Lu," she said in a quiet, husky tease.

Luke smirked a little. He reached up and ran his fingers through her dark, tangled hair, drifting back to the place in his mind that let him be grateful for the weight of her on his lap – and recklessly, he leaned forward to take another kiss, though his hands stayed put near her neck, committed as he was to taking it no further right now –

The coming days seemed a little less dark, a little less unbearable, when he gave himself the luxury of something – something like this, waiting when the storm was through.

* * *

Despite his granddaughter's involvement in the Imperial Senate, Ruwee Naberrie had not set foot on Coruscant since the fall of the Republic.

Coruscant was dangerous, Coruscant was – painful. Though the circumstances surrounding her death had been murky, Ruwee had always assumed Coruscant to be the planet where his youngest daughter spent her last tragic hours. He knew now that Padmé had died on the remote outpost haven of Polis Massa; nevertheless, he associated this urban jungle world with the fear and betrayal of her last days – and considering what he had learned about her fate, and the fate of those she loved, the heavy sadness that struck him when he stared out the windows of Pooja's neat, luxurious quarters was only deepened, rather than assuaged, by knowledge.

The last time he'd seen a Coruscant sunset – smoky and choking with smog and pollution – he and Jobal had been visiting for a benefit in Padmé's honor, celebrating a peace she'd helped secure in the unstable days before the Clone Wars began.

He watched darkness fall now, listening to the frantic buzz of traffic, listening to Pooja chatter animatedly with her sister via holo just inside the next room – and he grappled with how he felt about being here again.

He felt a complex mixture of sorrow, and hope – he lamented the past, and felt dragged back into it, what with all of these blood politics his rediscovered twin grandchildren were getting into; yet he also felt on the verge of a cleansing peace – Padmé's legacy could be restored, and even though she hadn't survived the fights, he might live to see the healed and whole galaxy she died for.

He'd like to see that, for her – and  _that's_  a thought he held on to, as he gazed over the befouled city atmosphere, and as he gazed beyond, at the yet unseen horizons of the next few weeks, anticipating the eventual breaking point of shock, animosity, and vitriol – personal, and political.

Occasionally, he tried to tell himself he was being too pessimistic – alas, he knew he wasn't, and even if he'd entertained a sense of positivity regarding this public declaration of genealogy, Leia herself would have stamped it out. The young woman – brave, or foolish, depending on who was asked – certainly had no illusions about the public, or its propensity for faithlessness; she prepared for the worst – and rightly so.

Ruwee was unsure if Leia had been lulled into a false sense of security by the relative silence that had ensued, in the first couple of days following her unprecedented press conference – he doubted it, though he was afraid that Pooja had let herself be buoyed a little too much by the hush.

The storms brewed now, though; the winds started to howl – and those affected, the Organas, the Naberries, the Skywalkers – battened down the hatches, and turned to their carefully laid plans, statements, and – in Ruwee's case – fortresses.

He had said his piece about Padmé, spoken for himself, and for his wife – for Sola, and for their elder granddaughter and all the –in law members of his family, and now he passed the mantle to Pooja, and he remained, to support her – and to cautiously keep forging those bonds with Luke and Leia.

"Gran-Papa," Pooja called from the next room. "I've told Ryoo you're sulking upwards of ten times; will you come in here and tell her hello?"

Pooja paused, and giggled –

"If you don't make an appearance, she insists she'll tell Gran-Mama you've taken off to an exotic dancing bar with Han and Luke."

Ruwee rolled his eyes and abandoned the enclosed sunroom he'd been lingering in, waving his hand over a sensor so that silk curtains closed around the glass viewports. He made his way into Pooja's cozy den, and folded his arms, giving her an austere look.

"You wouldn't find three men less likely to be in a dancing bar, Pooja," he said sternly.

Pooja rested her elbow on her knee, and her chin on her palm. She arched her brows.

"Bail Organa," she suggested pointedly – less likely than Ruwee, Han, and Luke – and Pooja suspected Han had easily been in many a dancing bar, without even half a second thought to it. Not since marrying Leia, sure, but –

"Yes, I suppose Bail is a prude," Ruwee said, giving a long-suffering sigh and coming around to sit with Pooja near the table.

Her holo was set up there, and Ryoo's face was projected on it.

"Who are you to call anyone a prude, Gran-Papa?" Ryoo asked, laughing brightly. "You damn near had a heart attack when Pooja bared her midriff at the Gungan Ballet."

"She was barely eighteen," Ruwee said stiffly.

"Of marrying age on at least forty systems," Pooja said solemnly. She turned her head and looked wryly at her grandfather. "You and Bail have much more in common than you think," she chided.

"Hmm," grumbled Ruwee vaguely. "Yes, a tendency to be ruled by the women in our family."

Pooja grinned, and shared a tongue-in-cheek smirk with Ryoo, neither of the sisters saying anything for a moment – and in the silence, Ruwee sighed, rubbing his forehead. He mustered a smile for Ryoo, peering closer.

"How are you?" he asked, looking at her closely. "I don't believe we've spoken – really spoken – since the announcement."

Ryoo nodded. She sighed, shrugging, and held up her hands a little aimlessly.

"I was just telling Pooja – it's hard to say – I'm not as politically minded as the two of you, but even so, following the Holos – Naboo doesn't seem as demonized in the whole thing; or rather, not yet," Ryoo said slowly. "Our family name has had its resurgence, and there are older folks here remembering Padmé suddenly like a spell has been lifted – I don't know if they don't believe the parts about Vader, or if they simply don't care – " she trailed off, shaking her head.

"I can't quite get a handle on it either," Pooja agreed, sharing a look between them. She sighed. "I'm having difficulty getting a hand on all of it, truth be told," she confessed. "It's erratic. The response is … not uniform. Not that I expected it to be, but I expected more – "

"Questions?" Ryoo suggested.

Pooja nodded.

There was another silence and then Ruwee said –

"It's early."

His pronouncement was a little dull; full of anticipation.

"It sucks you into a  _hope_  that no one will care," Pooja said softly. "Ah, but I know they will – I know they do, and Leia's already – well, there's even mistrust directed at Luke."

Pooja frowned – the maelstrom was just burgeoning, gaining steam, and she felt powerless as she watched – connected as she was, she still wasn't the undeniable progeny of Darth Vader; her family was part of this story, but not by blood, by happenstance, brought in by the choice of one woman, not the unbreakable bonds of chromosomes.

She'd seen her cousins spit on, she'd seen Leia's schedule empty as their colleagues withdrew contact with her to evaluate the response, bide their time – Leia plowed forward, headstrong and outwardly unshakeable, but Pooja knew she was worried; she saw the stress in Leia's eyes when they all sat down in their private meetings to continually assess the situation – and all of Leia's worry seemed to stem from her love of her brother, her husband, her adoptive family and the Naberries – and the worry she had for her career was selfless, because she was the same Leia who had stood up to Imperial bullies.

Pooja knew Leia feared for her power not because she craved dominion over others, but because she knew the genteel use of power could help her see her progressive ideals flourish, and that was the spirit Pooja had admired for years; that was the spirit that had made Leia a powerhouse during the war –

Pooja only hoped, she made herself have faith, that even if the aftermath of all this was full of anger and confusion, when it all settled, the galaxy would remember that Leia – and Luke, too – were  _good_ ; they were still the heroes they had always been.

Just as Pooja did her absolute best, tried her absolute damndest, to be the custodian of her late aunt's legacy, to keep Padmé alive in Nubian, and galactic, history, as a beacon of justice – even now, as whispers started to reach her ears that some thought all this must mean Naboo was always in collusion with Palpatine – surely, if the favorite daughter of the planet had been taken in by a Sith Lord, she had helped hand them all over to the wrath of the Empire –

Pooja blanched, but set her jaw – those whispers were still quiet now, yet they would gain traction, just as the varying whispers about Leia, and Luke, and the Organa's motivation, would gain traction and get louder, and then – as with any scandal – fade to manageable levels –

"What about the kids?" Ruwee asked, his brow furrowing. "Any trouble at school – negative reactions?

Ryoo snorted.

"Well, that's interesting – now that you ask, ahhhm, well," she paused, frowning. "You know Indy; he's smart for his age. He's more solemn than he should be, in truth – introspective, asks me lots of good questions – I'll start sending him to you two, because I frankly don't know how to answer inquiries about how this will affect the Imperial remnant's view of Leia," she laughed dryly, and Pooja smiled radiantly, always proud of her little prodigy nephew.

Ryoo sighed dramatically.

" _However_ ," she began, arching a brow. "Maiah and Iver, in their hysterical excitement over both learning that they're related to Luke and Leia, and being allowed to talk about it, have managed to confuse everything, and two days ago Maiah told her entire class that Darth Vader was  _her_  father."

Pooja nearly choked on her tongue.

"What?" she gasped, while her grandfather sat up a little straighter, his face going pale.

Ryoo nodded.

"Whyler went to pick her up and walked in on a bunch of five-year-old faces looking quite terrified and suspicious. One of them asked where his black cape was."

Ruwee closed his eyes slowly, a miserable crease tightening his forehead. Ryoo gave him a sympathetic look, and sighed –

"Gran-Papa, it's alright," she sighed. "There's no real harm – explaining a misunderstanding on a small scale, with some children and a teacher – it was as easy as catching flutterbys with sweetwater."

Ruwee still looked a little ill, and Pooja leaned forward curiously.

"On a local level though, Ryoo – what did her teachers think? How did they – what did you say?"

Ryoo shrugged.

"I spit out what Leia's written for us, nothing more," she said, clearing her throat. "That – the Empire destroyed records and redacted history, and recent discoveries tell us that Padmé married Anakin Skywalker, who became Darth Vader, and Luke and Leia were a product of that – simple. It gets through."

Ryoo shrugged again.

"It's so abstract, in many ways, Pooja," she said, a little dismissive. "It's as it is with all things – for some, it's a game changer, and for others, it's not necessarily more shocking than hearing she married a commoner."

"It is more shocking," Ruwee said flatly, his mind wandering as he thought of his home planet, and the citizens there – he and Pooja were now the main contacts for the Naboo aspect of things, the custodians of Padmé's legacy, and he couldn't bear it being mishandled, or his beloved daughter' becoming – some caricature of who she really was.

Pooja made a derisive noise in her throat.

"Former Imperial cadet," she quoted, scowling. "That's what some holos have started to call Han – and Leia's worried it will catch on."

Ryoo tilted her head.

"Isn't he?" she asked simply. "Han was removed from an Academy, was he not?"

"Yes," Pooja started –

"Yes," Ruwee said shortly, "but it's the semantics of the matter – as much of a rogue as Han's always been, the press has liked him with Princess Leia, to an extent – it's his looks, mostly," Ruwee said dryly, "he's always been rather charming, even when he's swearing at someone –

Pooja laughed lightly, and Ruwee continued, for Ryoo's benefit –

"The change is troubling," he said heavily. "Smuggler, turned hero of the Rebellion? That's a good narrative, even if they're calling him common – constantly referring to him as former Imperial – any kind of Imperial – underscores Leia's connection to Vader, to the Empire," Ruwee trailed off. "It isn't good."

Ryoo sighed, and leaned forward, rubbing her head.

"You politicians," she said. "Your world of snakes in the garden."

Her sister and grandfather looked back at her heavily, and Ryoo turned her head, mustering a bright smile.

"Kids," she called. "Come say hello – and goodbye – to Pooja and Wu-ree!"

Ruwee glared at her – he'd been cursed with the name Wu-ree since Indy was a toddler, unable to properly pronounce his name, and already calling Darred Gran-Papa.

"Ryoo," Pooja said earnestly, leaning in before the children dashed in. "Leia wants me to remind you – really, if you start to get too much attention, or you feel unsafe, she wants you to go to her place on Corellia – "

"I know, Pooja, I  _know_ ," Ryoo said with a laugh. "She's called twice to remind me, and Han even called once – we're fine. We're okay," she said earnestly. "Look, even if it is going to get worse, we're not running from this. I've run from a lot in my life. I won't run from this. Not in front of my kids," she said firmly, and a smile broke over her face as one of the children in question scrambled into her lap.

Maiah's face burst into the image, and she raised her hand.

"Pooja!" she wailed, as her twin brother bounced at Ryoo's knee, waving. Indy stood behind Ryoo's chair, a look of practiced boredom on his face – he had a tendency to try to look aloof and uninterested –  _growing up_ , Ryoo called it;  _being a little ass,_  Whyler called it, under his breath.

"Is Lee-Lee there?" Maiah gasped.

"Is Han?" Iver piped up.

Pooja grinned, and shared a look with Ruwee.

"We're so uninteresting," she said wryly. She turned back to the children – "No, no luck, dear," she said, pursing her lips at Maiah. "Lee-Lee's at her own house tonight."

Maiah responded to that revelation with an exaggerated pout, and Ryoo kissed the top of her head.

"I've told you we'll go see them in a few months, when things settle," she placated. "And, we'll all go to Yavin for the consecration of the Alderaan Haven."

"But that might not be for years," Indy piped up.

Maiah shrieked, and Ryoo shot him an annoyed look. Iver peered forward, waving at Pooja and Ruwee.

"Tell them we say hi," he asked. "And we love them, still," he said seriously. "In my class, in my class one kid said, he said Lee-Lee and Luke are bastards."

Ryoo turned her head sharply.

"What? Who said that?" she asked rapidly, narrowing her eyes. "That's not true by –  _any_  definition of the word," she corrected.

"What's a ba-ssss-tard?" Maiah asked seriously.

"I am," Indy responded matter-of-factly. "It's when – "

"Indy!" Ryoo broke in, alarmed. " _Where_  did you hear – enough; all right," looking frazzled suddenly. She rolled her eyes and hugged Maiah in her lap, looking over the little girl's head at her sister and grandfather. "As you can tell, it is time for me to go do some mothering," she said dryly.

Pooja nodded, grinning sympathetically, and Ruwee gave a wince at the idea of the impending conversation. Ryoo gave them both a look that was both tired, and upbeat –

"We'll all keep checking in," she encouraged. "Hang in there."

"You as well," Ruwee answered gruffly, echoing the sentiment – and not much else was said, as Ryoo wrestled her children, and managed to end the transmission at the same time – leaving Ruwee to fall into silent reflection for a moment with his granddaughter, both of them staring at the empty air where Ryoo's shimmery blue image had glittered moments before.

Ruwee was the first to sit back, resting his arm on the back of the sofa. He shook his head, rubbing his brow, and Pooja turned, eying him silently.

"Are your headaches bothering you?" she asked. "I can make some tea – "

Her grandfather shook his head, looking at her with tired eyes.

"We're often delicate with the less politically astute members of our family, aren't we?" he asked, though the question was mostly rhetorical. "What is this really shaping up to be?"

Pooja's shoulders sagged, and she threw herself back, shrugging helplessly.

"I don't know – I can't analyze it, Gran-Papa, I mean it when I say that," she sighed. "I can speak to certain instances, the same as you; I understand as well as Leia and Bail and Winter the nuances of referring to Han as a former Imperial, or the weight in a statement that associates Luke with the 'corrupt and defunct' Jedi Order – but as a whole, a grand scheme? I don't know where this is going."

She chewed her lip a moment, and then shrugged roughly.

"I don't know if it will wear off in an instant and the galaxy will be furious at anyone who ever doubted Leia, or if they'll all relish hating her," she looked up at the ceiling – her ornate ceiling, decorated with ancient, Nubian runes sparkling in gold foil and silver tinsel.

"It's difficult to gauge when – there's significant silence from the Alderaanian Diaspora," she confessed softly.

"That, I truly think is more related to shock, to – coping – than it is to a rejection of Leia," Ruwee said, finding confidence in his feelings there. "The Alderaanians have always been eons ahead of most cultures when it comes to enlightenment and lack of prejudice – shocked they may be, but I doubt even deception such as this will be enough to erase the years they've loved Princess Leia – and besides," he noted seriously, "Bail has done an impeccable job of shouldering the full blame for the deception – whether or not Media outlets choose to listen, the Viceroy has loudly declared that Leia knew  _nothing_  of this."

Pooja smiled a little wryly.

"I know how difficult it is for you to compliment him," she teased.

"I give credit when and where it is due," Ruwee said stiffly.

His brow creased.

"These kindling whispers about Padmé being in league with Palpatine all along," he began, his words heavy.

"I know," Pooja said. "Gran-Papa, you and I will work against that – Luke will pour his heart into working against that; you know they both will," she said earnestly. She swallowed hard. "It's just the tip of the conspiracies that will come out," she said, rubbing her jaw.

Ruwee nodded.

"Yes," he agreed, quietly, grimly. He was silent for a moment, and then looked over at Pooja. "I heard – I was unsure if I interpreted it right, but I thought I heard a statement from the Minister of Kalzeron that suggested – "

"That in the coming days, they'll call for a vote of no confidence in Leia?" supplied Pooja quietly. "Revoke her ambassadorship indefinitely and hold a grand jury inquisition?"

Ruwee pressed his lips into a thin line, and nodded. Pooja pressed her tongue against her teeth for a moment, gritting them.

"I'm not so sure that statement carried any power behind it," she said grudgingly, "but Kalzeron thrived under the Empire, and the Minister used to wear a grey uniform," she said, a sour look on her face.

Pooja sat forward, frustrated.

"It's a blasted infinite realm of threats out there," she said hotly. "That's an Imperial faction that – from what I'd guess, would want to shake the faith in Leia, since she's a beloved figurehead that helps hold this Republic together, while it's still deepening roots, but then there are others that might go the route of sowing discord between Leia and her old colleagues, planting seeds of distrust, trying to turn her," Pooja shook her head.

Ruwee grimaced.

"That's an impossible task – relentless torment from Vader and Sidious himself, and Luke refused to turn; there's not a chance Leia would be turned by mere mortals."

"Well, I agree," Pooja said. "But it can't just be Alderaan that backs Leia, there has to be a chorus of systems that – well, that accept this, and move on; I don't mean  _overlook_  it, I mean refuse to judge her on it. I have to impress upon the Queen the necessity of Naboo's support."

"The most prominent criticism – and it might be what takes her down," Ruwee analyzed heavily, "will be that she's kept this hidden until she secured her place in an extreme position of power – the worst of it is the cover up, or the illusion of one."

"She didn't cover it up," Pooja argued.

"Pooja, Leia was as innocent as you or I in the orchestration of this, but ultimately it is one of the largest cover-ups in galactic history – and Bail Organa is the only living conspirator to answer for it," Ruwee said calmly.

He sat forward.

"A significant benefit is that her current position is an appointed one," he said carefully. "She cannot be accused of falsely garnering votes. Not in the sense that the ordinary person was lied to – it's a small victory, but a good one."

"Yes, appointed," Pooja said bitterly. "Appointed, and the woman who appointed her has said  _nothing_."

Ruwee grimaced again, and Pooja scowled – the Chief of State was silent on the issue, utterly silent. Mon Mothma had made no comment on the matter, and the lack of such was almost louder than any generic pacification she might have come out with –

Leia had a cool amount of patience with the issue, though Pooja – and Han, for that matter, and Carlist Rieekan,  _and_  Bail Organa –  _raged_  over it. Mon Mothma had been briefed on the pending announcement, she had had time, and yet –

Leia reminded her councilors, and her loved ones, that Mon Mothma's position was as fragile as her own; she was a woman charged with holding together a thriving, but still neophyte, New Republic together, without sowing discord, without allowing tensions to burst into flame – she had to bide her time in a different way than Leia did.

Ah – Leia was intelligent in her reserved comments on Mon Mothma's silence, yes, but Pooja wondered if in her private hours, at home in her apartment, she was hurt by her one-time mentor's silence.

Then again – perhaps Leia had burned more bridges with Mon Mothma than Pooja realized, back when she had married Han. The Chief of State had always seemed to prefer Leia make a political match.

"All in all," Ruwee said, his voice soft, sympathetic. "I think more of my sympathy – and this isn't to devalue Leia's hurdles in anyway – lies with Luke," he said.

Pooja watched him, and Ruwee shook his head.

"That boy has no interest in the limelight, and he's got an inspiringly positive view of sentient beings," Ruwee said. "He wants his view of Jedi piety embodied – and I think, if anyone could do it, Luke could re-establish the glory of the Jedi, of what they were always supposed to be – and I can't stand to see him disheartened by this, as things go on."

Ruwee swallowed heavily.

"There is so much  _hatred_  for Vader, Pooja," he said raggedly. "So much hatred that Luke – forgets, because he's a soul composed of the will to  _forgive_."

Ruwee closed his eyes.

"Hatred is a destructive thing."

He was quiet in a moment.

"A force in itself," he murmured hoarsely. "Succumbing to it doesn't automatically make one a Sith, but it's so easy to lose the kind of reformist ferocity he's got."

Pooja watched her grandfather's profile, and then leaned forward to take his hand, pressing it between hers tightly.

"You're right, Grandfather," she said, dropping more affectionate diminutives in light of the gravity of the moment. "But he won't lose that. Luke  _won't_."

Ruwee was silent, and looked down at her hand, drawing strength from it – drawing strength from her youth, and her as-of-yet un-tarnished ideals, because despite the trials of his past, and the many times his faith and his passion for progress had been ruined, he wanted this generation to succeed – he  _wanted_  Pooja to succeed, he wanted to see Padmé's legacy solidified by these young warriors in his family.

And he wanted to say he'd believed in it all along – so he held his head up higher, and held on to Pooja's bravery.

* * *

Politics, and everything concerning it, left a bad taste in Han's mouth: that was nothing new. Diplomacy, statecraft, government – whatever the word being used was, it all meant the same to him, and it wasn't his specialty – it wasn't his battlefield.

Savvy as she was with a blaster – or any improvised weapon she needed to survive – Leia's remarkable talents, and her ultimate passions, rested in affairs of state, and that was likely why Han found himself grappling more with the repercussions of the infamous press conference than she seemed to be.

Despite the efforts that had gone in to prepping him for the galactic to response to the revelation, he was shaken – if not to the core, then significantly enough to trigger the more brash and violent traits in him that he'd thought were mellowed in the years since he'd come to love Leia and her crusade.

His mood seemed to balance on a hair trigger, ready to ignite at the barest provocation. He had always had a slight handicap when it came to his ego, a minor tendency to bristle at things that threatened his honor or reputation – though others who knew him would likely refer to it a more massive character flaw – but in this whirlwind of brewing gossip and Media lunacy following Luke and Leia's announcement, he realized acutely how much his need to protect his good name extended to Leia, and her good name – and her reputation.

He had always been protective – he  _still_  was protective, increasingly so every day – and that had always been more a product of his fear that he would have Leia taken for him than it was a belief she couldn't handle herself and her own affairs. He'd never thought her so weak that she needed him at her side; rather, he thought her valuable – singularly, the most important thing in his life, and for that reason alone he was always prepared to fight on her behalf, and he was constantly vigilant of threats against her.

Threats whispered now – threats mounted, from all sides it seemed. Verbal threats, physical threats – violent, abstract, personal, political. The aggressive response she had prepared for was starting to rear its ugly head, and the more Han heard sinister things said, the more probing, derogatory questions he heard asked – the more disturbing or opportunistic headlines he read – the angrier he felt.

He was gripped, almost, with paranoia, and that was a nauseating, haunting feeling he hadn't dealt with regularly for years, not since the Hutt syndicate had lost interest in him, and his name was stricken from Imperial hit-lists when the Empire became a moot point.

He was  _alienated_  from Leia's strict, calculating political world; he operated on brute facts, a rigidly Corellian code of ethics that abhorred shadowy dealings – his military duties, at least, afforded him respite, as the males and females under his command, and in most military units, were following the headlines, but preoccupied with their specific responsibilities, regardless of who was in charge with the elite – as it was in any regime.

Han did his best to toe the line he'd been asked to toe – grit his teeth, performed his work with the rest of the commissioned Generals, and tried to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear on the chatter around him –

Yet the impossibility of that was staggering –

Bail and Rouge were adamant that he make no comment; Leia constantly impressed upon him the need for them all to remain calm, to take the high road –

But when he took a lunch break in the sprawling open-air cafeteria near the Market Pavilion at the old Imperial Palace, and overheard someone refer to  _his_  wife as  _Sith-spawn – Vader bitch –_

On the Falcon, Han closed his eyes tightly, until white spots burst in his vision and his head gave a throb of protest. He leaned forward on his bunk, jamming his elbows onto his knees, dropping his face into his palms.

He had a hard time fathoming half the bantha shit he'd overheard, seen in the news –

Suggestions that Leia was fabricating such a history in order to make her life story seem even more tragic, as if – as if she needed to do such a thing; similar suggestions that the fabrication was to draw in some of the Imperial Remnant, charm them, and help her ultimately consolidate power –

Accusations of corruption were beginning to crop up – she lied – she obfuscated the truth to gain power – she would turn out to be evil like him –

Most of it – almost all of it – exactly the sorts of things Leia, Bail, Pooja, and all of the other political experts involved in the pre-announcement analysis had assumed would be said – Winter herself had played the devil's advocate and frequently assaulted Leia with questions that she ought to anticipate from the press –

Still, still though; despite all that, despite how Han had been warned, he took it all like an unexpected sucker punch; he was yanked backwards, nearly pulled to his knees, by the debilitating, unfamiliar surge of naïveté that engulfed him when it started to turn out exactly as Leia had predicted it would – when in his eyes, the galaxy shouldn't give a damn who her father was, whether it was Darth Vader, Bail Organa, or anything in between.

Han Solo had never been a naïve man – he had never even been a naïve boy; his life had never allowed for that, and so it was a cold shock to his system to find himself on the less hardened side of things.

He watched Leia barely flinch at a slur thrown at her when she left her office, and yet he struggled not to draw his blaster when he saw a HoloNet station air a caricature of her that showed her sipping blood red wine at Vader's side, her hand perched girlishly on her hip, both of them carelessly watching Alderaan meet its end.

Sitting here now, he hadn't yet quelled the rage that coursed through him when he saw that – he wasn't even sure if Leia herself had seen it yet; she was doing a painfully good job of avoiding paying superfluous attention to the Media; she filtered it through a system of people who analyzed what was necessary and what was salacious, and as of now, she was still not making official statements, still biding her time –

But the caricature haunted Han, and so did the anger that was starting to seep into the political commentary.

He hated the weak mindedness of the masses, visiting the sins of another on her, and he hated to imagine what she must feel to have any being, any news outlet, associate her with Imperial brutality.

_[Han?]_

Chewbacca's low, curious growl echoed through the ship, and Han rubbed his forehead harshly, looking up. He grimaced and sat up a little, clearing his throat.

"'M in my bunk," he grunted, loudly enough to be heard by Wookiee ears.

He reached up and tugged at the wrinkled collar of his uniform, loosening it even more – he hadn't bothered to change; he'd retreated to the  _Falcon_  swiftly, hell-bent on calming down. He shook his head grimly, a muscle in his temple jumping erratically – _Leia_ , he thought distractedly –  _I want them to leave you alone –_

_Kriff_ , he hated the politics, hated it, but that hatred never overpowered his feelings for Leia, and his faith in what she could do for the galaxy if it would just let her - !

Chewbacca poked his head in cautiously, peering around the corner, and Han sat back, waving his hand lazily –

"S'just me," he muttered. He gave a cursory look around – his bunk was fairly clean, for the time being.

Chewbacca folded his arms, his massive paws resting lightly on his elbows. He tilted his head curiously, expression patient. Han reached up to scratch his jaw, running his palm over some barely-discernable stubble. The Wookiee stared at him for a long time, and then lowered his gaze.

_[Today was – troubling]_  he remarked carefully.

Han's expression darkened, and he nodded – by far, today had been the worst in terms of reactions. Day by day, the abject shock seemed to wear off more and more, and as hesitance evaporated, everything else exploded – except this was not a rabid press interested in a social mismatched romance; it was a Media juggernaut with the possible power to make or break Leia's career.

And – arrogant as it may be on her behalf, Han quietly wondered if the New Republic would survive without her.

Couldn't these people see past the prejudices of the past and understand that if not for Leia, if not for her goodness  _despite_ her connection to Vader, they'd all be lost?

Han swallowed hard, a sour line crossing his forehead.

"Did you see the cartoon?"

Chewbacca nodded solemnly.

Han looked up tiredly.

"You know if Leia has?"

_[You haven't spoken to her? Seen her?]_

Han shook his head. He ran his knuckles over his jaw, and shrugged stiffly.

"She doesn't want me lurking around the office," he said tensely, quoting her words. "She's – she wants, uh, everyone to go on, y'know, not be pushed around by the backlash," he explained.

Chewbacca nodded sagely.

"Less chance of me sayin' somethin' that causes trouble if I keep my nose in work, or stay here – "

_[Hiding]_  Chewbacca supplied mildly, though not in an unfriendly way.

Han bristled, his lips drawing back in a snarl, but he said nothing. His first instinct was to challenge that accusation, insist he wasn't hiding – but in some respects he was, and in some respects Leia was asking him to hide.

_I can do this, Han – I was raised for this._

He grit his teeth again, thinking –  _Sweetheart, you can't ask me to stand back and watch them maul you forever._

Unable to stop himself, he looked up to Chewbacca for answers, questions bursting out –

"Drinking wine with Vader?" he hissed. "While Alderaan burns?" He clenched a fist. "Why would – why the fuck would anyone think to draw that?" he demanded. "She's a human; that hurts – that  _hurts_  her. That will hurt her."

Chewbacca bowed his head for a moment, shifting his weight.

_[The person – or being – who produced such a thing – has their own anger; likely their own sense of betrayal]_  he answered in a slow warble.  _[I have seen…many times before, how your species cares first and foremost for their own emotions, and the feelings of others be damned]._

Han shook his head stiffly.

"She fought, though – she led the Rebellion, there's no – there's no reason for this stuff," he growled. "And – now there's one rumor or, story or – somethin' out there that – Vader's death is a hoax, that Luke and Leia are conspiring to gain control and put the Empire back," Han faltered, his head throbbing at the mental gymnastics of it – he wasn't sure he had the capacity to understand some of the escalating conspiracy theories.

Chewbacca nodded – he felt the same as Han did. He had never viewed Leia as dangerous based on something as coincidental as her genetics; he had worked with her for years, trusted her for years, and seen her strengths and vulnerabilities – yet he knew how the galaxy could be.

He studied his friend with sympathy, well aware that Han was experiencing the exact internal conflict – anger and disbelief – that Leia had warned him he would. He sought to calm some of that instability, and so redirected the conversation away from Han's furious contention with the political system.

_[How_ is _Leia?]_  Chewie asked gently _. [In the grand scheme. She seems composed, even as this gets worse]._

Han compressed his lips, and then nodded – the nod was somewhat grudging, not towards Leia, towards himself, as if he was admitting that she was doing well, even as he waited for a breaking point.

"She was prepared," Han admitted dryly. "She knew what was coming and – she was right," he muttered. He paused, hesitated – he furrowed his brow. "Almost makes it harder to watch it happen," he growled.

It would have been such a stunning, welcome twist if Leia's announcement had been met with uninterested silence – if all of her bracing for the worst had been pointless, because the galaxy treated her as she deserved to be treated.

Han leaned forward again, elbows on his knees.

"Dansra said from what she can tell, the Alderaanians are reeling, but they're still fiercely supportive of Leia – and she has good contacts. She's got a good pulse on the people – damn problem is, Leia's their mouthpiece, or Evaan's their mouthpiece – and if  _they_  try to speak for Alderaan, now they're gettin' accused of forcing the Diaspora to support a princess who isn't of the blood, who lied," Han shook his head – "Looks bad for 'em, but the Alderaanians are important to Leia having a strong base – but she can't keep 'em without looking tyrannical."

Han paused, scowling.

"That's what Dansra and Winter rambled on about when I asked 'em why all the Alderaanian outlets are silent –  _'cause we fund them and direct them,_  Winter said – _'cause Alderaanians have to start independently speaking, or it looks like the Organa's strong-armed them_  – 'cept the Alderaanians won't speak without a directive from the royal family, because they're too respectful."

Chewbacca tilted his head.

_[Wouldn't it be a simple matter of Miss Verlaine issuing a blanket invitation for all Alderaanians to publicly speak on their feelings, whatever they may be?]_

"Yeah, you'd think," Han said bitterly. "Winter says they got to wait, or it still looks manipulative."

_[I understand that point of view.]_

"I sure as hell don't," Han snapped.

Chewbacca gave a soft rumble of laughter.

_[The political long game at stake - ]_

"I'm sick of hearin' about the damn political long game – Leia, Bail, Winter, Luke – all of 'em need to tell the galaxy to take a fuckin' leap through the nine Corellian hells."

Chewbacca pulled back his lips in a smile – he understood that point of view, as well. Patience, however, was a virtue in politics; and Leia was indeed playing a long game that Han was still too worked up to align himself with.

Han pointed to himself, his eyes flashing.

"What I don't get, is why does Leia have to keep takin' hits for these people? Why do I have to be handled, and get told to calm down – I get it that she's got to be an angel, she's the princess, but she didn't marry into another high class family for a reason – they ought to cut me loose – I can get in the dirt where she can't," he trailed off, grumbling, and Chewbacca leaned back against a rack of drawers, contemplating Han's tirade.

"I'm the muscle," Han groused, and Chewbacca smirked.

_[You hate being handled.]_

"Hate it? 'Course I hate it – Bail and Rouge act like if anything goes wrong, it'll for damn sure be my fault, 'cause I ran my mouth or stepped out of line – and I don't know how any of these people can keep a nice, polite little expression on their face when someone spits at Leia –  _spits_  at her, Chewie," Han raged, standing up – "she's been spit on more than once in the past few days – someone grabbed her the other day, reached for her throat –  _Chewie_ ," Han snapped, "I got asked if she's ever turned Vader's little choking trick on me in the bedroom," he hissed, his eyes narrowing – his fingers flexed; he still commended himself for walking away from that one.

He reached up and rubbed his knuckles on his temple again, shaking his head – he breathed out, relaxing a little, now that he had Chewbacca to vent some frustration to –

"Leia's efficient. She's strong – you know that," he said, and pointed to himself, "I know that – she's gettin' a little cold, though," he confessed warily. "I think – I know – it makes it easier for her to work, sometimes, when she bottles things up, but no matter how strong she is, all of  _this_ ," he gestured wildly, "is gonna take its toll."

Chewbacca made a soft, thoughtful noise.

_[She knows it's easier for you to keep your cool if she appears unaffected]._

"I know," Han said bitterly. "I know, and I'm trying." He scowled, taking a few paces forward, and then turning, his back to Chewbacca. He stared down at his wrinkled bunk, leaned against it, and then turned around, looking back at the Wookiee grimly. "I don't want to make it worse for her," he said hollowly. "I'm not good at this shit."

He kept getting the haunting feeling that this sort of thing was what they – the ubiquitous, undefined  _they_  – had meant when they said he and Leia would never work – was it Mon Mothma, Jan Dodonna, who said Han killed her prestige, made her political ambitions difficult?

He frowned, and Chewbacca gave him a sharp look, and a sharper growl.

_[She didn't marry you for 'this shit']_  he quoted simply _. [Why did she marry you, Han?]_

Han was silent. He gave his friend a look of grudging thanks, for reminding him so quickly, so firmly – of course; Leia had never wanted him for power, or for leverage, or any sort of fine addition to a collection of political tools – she loved him as he was, and she had never wanted him different, and Han sat back down heavily.

After a long silence, Chewbacca ventured –

_[Is the directive from Onderon bothering you?]_

Han flinched at the mention of it, and groaned hoarsely, running his hands back through his hair. He gripped at the back of his neck for a moment, his spine crawling, and nodded harshly –

Onderon, a planet that had hosted one of the Rebellion's most ruthless sects, and was still yet a hotbed of radical Imperial hatred, had issued a scathing commentary on Leia's bloodline –

_She will be a rallying point for Imperial sympathizers whether she likes it or not – removal from office is a must – and at that, any Princess of a Royal House should know her lessons well; that when a regime is changed by force, no rallying point should be left intact._

It was a chilling, public denunciation of Leia from a New Republic world – coldly political, not even necessarily a commentary on her personally, but on what she might stand for to an opposition – and Han had been made aware of it only because Carlist Rieekan brought it to his attention and informed him that he, as well as many of Leia's security team, were considering it to be a veiled death threat.

_She receives threats frequently_  – Rieekan had said matter-of-factly –  _but this is from – a recognized New Republic planet –_   _it's serious; Luke is in danger, as well –_

Han had left the office shortly after, retreating to the refuge of his ship while Leia carried on, bold and brave at her office, though she could scarcely keep a meeting these days while her colleagues and opponents scrambled – she worked on Alderaan, she worked on the Haven, on her more specialized projects –

"That's something they tried to keep from me," Han said in a low voice. "Carlist ignored them."

_[No one wants to alarm you - ]_  Chewie started.

Han bared his teeth, silencing his friend's pacifications – he was still angry that no one had seen fit to tell him Leia had received a threat like that – he was still angry, in fact, that no one had seen fit to tell him she received numerous albeit rarely credible, death threats a day, even before the Vader reveal.

He figured he'd been foolish to assume that stopped when the Empire died.

"Chewie," Han sighed seriously. "You know I don't like givin' you orders. I never liked this Life Debt stuff," he began.

The Wookiee gave an extremely human roll of his large, expressive eyes, stiffening is brow in annoyance – and he never liked it when Han confused the honored tradition of his people with the human equivalent of slavery.

Han swallowed hard, well aware of what Leia would think of his next directive.

"I want you attached to her hip," he said hoarsely. "I'm serious, pal. Don't let her out of your sight until this blows over."

_[Leia is not going to take that favorably]_  Chewie mused, though his expression was acquiescing – he seemed to be offended Han thought he even had to ask.

"Leia's getting death threats!" Han snapped. His voice nearly cracked with stress. "You got to be on her," he insisted. "She's with you, or me, or she's at home."

He knew he sounded radical – and he knew Leia was, for the most part, unlikely to comply with any rigid demands he put on her schedule. He just – didn't want her safety in anyone else's hands. He knew the women she kept on her detail, and he knew she was able to defend herself, but if the whole galaxy ended up turning against her, as it seemed it might –

He thought he'd experienced media uproar before - but the quaint attention they had paid to Leia's affair with him had never come close to this.

"I can't lose her," Han said. He shook his head. "It's not even - it's not just physical," he stopped, clenching his fist – he hated the idea of seeing Leia through another downward spiral when everything had been going so well – and he fluctuated between thinking she was as composed and in control as she seemed about this, and thinking she was withdrawing into the way she'd been back on Hoth, or just after Endor.

He swallowed hard.

"Can't lose her," he murmured again.

Chewbacca knew that the Princess could take care of herself, and in many ways, was more prepared for all of this than Han was – but he understood his friend's fear, and his promise to follow through with his order of protection was sincere.

_[You know I will take care of her,]_  Chewbacca said steadily.  _[You and she are one and the same now, in terms of how my culture views mates]._

Han nodded heavily.

_[Malla would skin my hair from my flesh if I allowed anything to happen to Leia.]_

Han snorted hoarsely, and Chewbacca shared the quick laugh, hesitating only a moment, before going on.

_[I think my presence with her will serve another purpose, as well,]_  he began slowly.  _[I am a well-known associate of hers via my Debt to you, but if I stand by her side physically, then there is a greater implication_ ,  _considering my species was subjugated to the Empire]._

Chewbacca was reflectively silent for a moment, before going on –

_[It would…seem to symbolize that despite her connection to Vader, Kashyyyk is on her side.]_

Han looked at Chewbacca neutrally for a moment, studying him. He swallowed hard.

"That's smart, pal," he said quietly. "That's somethin'," he added. He set his jaw, tilting his head as he thought for a moment. " _Is_  Kashyyyk on her side?" he asked finally, an edge to his tone.

Chewbacca looked contemplative.

_[I do not know much of politics on my planet,]_  he allowed gruffly, his growl low and even.  _[I was a soldier and a laborer before my Imperial servitude – Malla has told me that the elders have gathered a council to meditate on the matter]._

Han seemed to bristle, and Chewbacca winced, bowing his head humbly.

_[Cub – try to remember – Kashyyyk was enslaved; Vader had personal leadership in the dominion of it,]_  he answered.  _[The very idea of Vader and the Empire leaves such a vile impression in our minds - ]_

"She's not Vader, Chewie!" Han said desperately. "She's not even close - !"

_[I know. You must remember that I know_  her _. I see her as she is. To many more she is a larger than life icon – a figurehead, an idol, a scapegoat. These things are complex, Cub,]_ Chewbacca implored.

He was quiet for a long moment, and then looked at Han confidently.

_[Still, my people are fair, and wise. They will ultimately judge Leia on her virtues, particularly since she has no unsavory associates to account for.]_

Han looked away tiredly, his head throbbing again. He closed his eyes, his expression dark – disheartened to hear that even Kashyyyk recoiled from Leia, but forcing himself to try to understand the multifaceted issues at play. He frowned, but gave a nod to reinforce himself – often, the only way he could begin to see how the people around Leia could react so unfairly was for him to remember how hard Leia had been on herself when she found out – it had certainly been a healing process to invigorate her confidence; to make her believe she wasn't destined for darkness –

He still fought that battle with her sometimes, in their mild, intermittent conversations in which they touched base about children –

_How do you feel about it today, Sweetheart? –_ And lately, more often than not, she'd say –  _I like the idea of you as a father – but I have too much fear to take that step._

Han directed himself to think of this whole mess as Leia's personal struggles, on a larger scale – though of course, he had been a key player in helping Leia see herself in the best way, and now Leia stepped into his role with the galaxy.

He swallowed hard, rubbing his jaw and looking back at Chewbacca.

"No unsavory associates, eh?" he quoted, roughly dragging himself out of his mood – beginning to rebuild himself, so when he went home tonight, if Leia had seen that caricature, or if she was nervous about that threat, he'd have a charming smile, and a tight, safe hug for her –

He gestured to himself.

"'Cept me," he drawled, smirking.

Chewbacca gave a short, amused howl, wryly agreeing with the statement, and Han got up, running his hand through his hair. He stopped to give Chewbacca squeeze on the shoulder, a silent word of gratitude – and then he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his comlink to check the time – he ought to check up on Luke, while Leia toughed out her last hour at work.

* * *

For the most part, Leia found the apartment she shared with Han to be a satisfying one – it was private, it was home; it was smaller than one might have expected, considering her status and her extensive wealth, but to her it was near perfect. It was the first place she and Han had settled together, it was her first permanent place in a post-War galaxy – and though it may be considered small by royal standards, even elite Coruscant standards, it was still large compared to what the average person lived in.

On this particular evening, though, she for the first time thought it a little – cramped, claustrophobic even. That was likely entirely due to the fact that she had been doing business in it – something she tried to avoid, or at least keep to the neat little office she kept near Chewbacca's room.

Leia's presence in her office had been erratic, lately, not necessarily through fault of her own – and today, after the completion of an Alderaanian Council meeting, she had chosen to return home to conduct last orders of business – and with her, she brought her assistant, her father, Rouge, Winter, Dansra Beezer, and Evaan Verlaine.

In some respects, that meant less security – she was safe here – but more stress, though much of that potential stress was relieved when she realized Han wasn't home yet.

He disliked having masses of people in their apartment more than she did.

That and – bearing in mind the intelligence that had just come to her attention via her assistant, it was best Han not be around to lose his mind, so to speak – not yet.

Touching her fingertips lightly to her forehead, moving them gently as if she could smooth out the constant creases there – Leia sighed, pinching the inside of her lip sharply with her teeth.

"You have  _credible_  reason to believe our address has been compromised?" she asked heavily, her eyes boring into Tavska's.

Ever poised, the Togruta nodded her head, her eyes solemn.

Dansra squinted at Tavska, and looked up, her eyes narrowing.

"I'd consider it nothing more than a minor nuisance, if it weren't for the numerous death threats you've received, Your Highness," she said tightly – "There are plenty of high profile politicians who have private addresses found out, and the worst they deal with is paparazzi, but with a target on your back – "

"I receive death threats all the time," Leia said tiredly. She lowered her hand, resting it against her shoulder and plucking at her collar. "I've had a proverbial target on my back since I was nineteen."

"Leia," Bail said, his expression worried. "Please take this seriously."

She turned slightly to look at him carefully.

"Father, I am taking it seriously," she placated. "You have to bear with me if I show little alarm at the idea of a death threat. I was the most expensive mark in the galaxy and," she spread her arms with a little smile, "here I am."

Bail hesitated, frowning uncomfortably – and in his moment of silence, Evaan stepped in.

"With all due respect, Your Highness – I'm not contradicting what you're saying, but we were underground during the war. We were constantly moving; we were often hidden extremely well," she listed, sharing a glance with Bail. "We aren't in that same situation anymore. You are constantly in the spotlight. You're visible, your associates are easily accessible, you're  _publicly_  available – in some respects, being an insurgent was safer than being the Ambassador."

Evaan arched up one of her brows, and Bail cleared his throat pointedly in agreement – Leia tapped her fingers against her shoulder, nodding.

"Noted," she murmured. She sighed shortly. "Of course, I am aware – I hope none of you would think me naïve of those facts, but it still stands that I don't find myself falling into a state of fear," she said dryly.

"Wouldn't expect you to," Winter said wryly. She leaned back on Leia's sofa, tilting her head at Tavska, and then looking back at Leia. "Threats at your office are one thing – security here – "

"This complex has adequate security measures," Leia said. "It's gated; there's limited access."

She paused, and looked around the room.

"I recognize the need for vigilance – where did this leak come from?" she asked.

"I can't be sure," Tavska said tightly. "It could have been a simple server hack, or it could have been one of your neighbors."

"Would you suspect any of your neighbors of announcing your private home address to the Media, Leia?" Rouge asked, a nasty look on her face at the idea of such – callous disregard for privacy –

Leia gave a small movement of her shoulders. She and Han had a unit with private access. They didn't use the lobby and it wasn't well known that they were the couple in one of the upper floor secluded units.

"You ought to come and stay at the Embassy for a while," Rouge said sharply. "It's fortified. A security detail is all well and good, but our Embassy withstood Imperial ransacking."

Leia tried not to physically react to that suggestion. She closed her eyes lightly for a moment, and held up a hand.

"Aunt Rouge – there's no need to overreact; at the moment, there's no indication that my home is unsafe."

"If you'll allow me to be pessimistic," Evaan said flatly, "these threats are going to get more violent, and more plausible."

"You don't know that," Dansra said, bristling. "These – animals – are a radically disgruntled few – an angry, shocked response is inevitable, and so are rumors and conspiracy theories, but significant violence against Princess Leia – "

"Is highly probably, Dansra," Evaan interrupted simply. She spread her hand out, gesturing with her palm up at Leia. "There was certainly no time wasted when it came to spitting on her."

Dansra looked hesitant, but skeptical. She sat back, rubbing her forehead.

"But it takes a significant mental leap to go from – humiliating someone to, ah – to contemplating actual violent attack – "

"For our people, perhaps," Winter said. "Not for some."

"She's right," Bail said heavily. "There are a multitude of reactions, and a thousand different thresholds at which point individuals turn violent – and some cultures believe very deeply in the importance of bloodlines, and blood vengeance."

He shook his head.

"I think you need to consider Rouge's suggestion," he said.

Leia blinked.

"Taking shelter at the Embassy for a while?" she clarified.

"Yes, Leia," Bail said emphatically. "It's Alderaanian soil, it is  _heavily_  fortified – for defense, in keeping with our pacifist nature – at least take refuge on Alderaan, proverbially," he said, his face haggard. "It's strategic in that way, as well."

Leia looked at him quietly for a long moment, hesitating.

"Dad," she said dryly, "do you think Han is going to take well to that idea? Living with his in-laws?"

Bail gave a small smile, but before he could answer –

"Han doesn't have to come," Rouge said breezily. Her brow furrowed lightly. "He's not in any danger. He can stay here," she waved her hand, "have it be a – bachelor pad – for a while."

Leia turned her head to look at her aunt very slowly, her eyes only slightly narrowing.

"Aunt Rouge, do you truly think I would move out of my apartment indefinitely and leave my husband behind?" she asked pointedly.

Rouge blinked, her eyes wide.

"Well, it's not as if you'd be moving to a different planet, dear," she answered obliviously. "You aren't leaving  _him_."

"Let's not speak of this as if it's been settled," Leia said warily. "I do not feel unsafe in this apartment – a believe that my safety has been compromised is not the same as a certainty – and Rouge, Han  _is_  in danger. All anyone has to do to cripple me is go after him."

Rouge compressed her lips, and nodded, and Winter smirked.

"What's she's saying is, she's sure as hell not going Goddess-knows-how-long without getting laid," she snorted.

"Winter," Bail said, with a resigned, dull shake of his head.

Winter shrugged, and Leia shared a look with her quietly – that was technically true, though Leia's concern for Han's safety, and their privacy – what was left of it – actually did outweigh inconveniences in her sex life.

"Your Highness," Tavska said quietly. "I will continue to monitor this situation, and I'll consult with Lausta," she paused – Lausta was in charge of Leia's security at her office, and in public events. "However, I suggest you do consider vacating this apartment for a while. If only for peace of mind."

Leia's hand moved back to her temple, where she absently smoothed her fingertips against her skin again – a heavy feeling of dread settled in her stomach. Dread, not fear, as she considered more disruption in her life – in Han's life, in Luke's life – she had meant what she said when she told Han that she was prepared for this, and she could handle it, but every day new hurdles popped up that left her reeling – more often than not, only because she knew how badly it was affecting people like Han – the Naberries –

She nodded, acknowledging that she would consider it.

"As for Han," Bail said mildly, resting his elbow on his knee. He flicked his wrist a casually. "He won't take any convincing if he finds out you're in trouble."

"You're right on that count," Leia said stiffly. "If anything, I should drag us to the Embassy for his sake – if a stranger comes near this apartment he's likely to shoot without asking any questions, and imagine what a Media nightmare that would be, amidst everything else."

She stepped forward from her position near the wall, resting her hands on the sofa. Leaning back, Winter looked up at her, a supportive, sympathetic little smile on her face – and Leia gave a silent shrug, communicating with her wordlessly.

"You've always got Alderaan behind you," Winter murmured.

Leia smiled tightly.

"I ask too much of Alderaan," Leia answered warily. She glanced from Winter to the others – not so much Rouge and her father, but Evaan and Dansra, and her jaw tightened. "Your loyalty is – appreciated," she said, struggling to find a more meaningful word.

She paused for a moment, and offered them words of thanks in their native language – and their responses kept with their personalities; Evaan bowed her head respectfully, accepting gracefully, and then giving a small wave of her hand that indicated the thanks were unnecessary, and Dansra straightened her shoulders, giving a toss of her blonde head.

"You have never asked too much of Alderaan," Dansra said sternly.

Leia tried to smile, but merely grimaced, glancing away for a moment.

"Leia, if you're thinking of that caricature – " Bail began.

Leia's lashes fluttered, and again she said nothing.

"That heinous thing," Winter growled, nostrils flaring. She jerked her chin at the viceroy. "It's just  _debased_  mockery," she snapped. "Anyone in their right minds ought to accuse him," she nodded at Bail again, "for any alleged collusion, anyway – Leia didn't know about this until recently."

Winter pursed her lips.

"No offense, Pasha," she said brightly, tilting her head at Bail.

"Hmpf," Bail grunted dryly, giving her a look.

"It is not the first, and it will not be the last," Evaan said, a frown creasing her lips. She looked down to her datapad. "I keep tabs on the emotional pulse of the Diaspora when it comes to this," she said. "There's confusion. There's shock. There's very little hatred. Even the Vengeance Brigade – they hate the Empire. They don't hate you."

Leia looked at Evaan thoughtfully, and then gave her a short, clipped shake of the head.

"We'll see how things progress," she said carefully. "If these suggestions that I've taken on the role of a young Palpatine, orchestrating both sides of a war, take hold," she gave a bitter smirk, "I may end up in prison, rather than just under inquiry."

Rouge looked over sharply.

"What's this about?" she asked – and then she looked to Bail, her eyes hawkish, wary – "You told me there was nothing to worry about in regards to her Ambassadorship," she accused.

Bail sighed heavily.

"There's only been a motion, Rouge," he said grudgingly, looking to Leia apologetically. "It wasn't seconded."

Leia grimaced – a representative from Onderon had raised a motion this morning that Leia be suspended from office pending a Supreme Court inquiry into her political practices, associates, et cetera. She stood accused – by many – of withholding this information until after she secured an incredibly powerful position within the New Republic. That had not necessarily been her intention – Leia's struggles with Vader were entirely personal, prior to her confirmation as Ambassador – in perhaps her first verbal gaffe since the announcement, Leia had attempted to combat that accusation by stating that she sought to square away her familial matters before making the Vader connection public, and that her honest representation now was in order to equip voters with all information should she run for office in the future.

The statement was futile, in a way – she was still called deceptive, a liar – they suggested that she manipulated the information either way –

"It wasn't seconded in today's session," Leia noted tersely. "Onderon took the first step in an actual political denunciation of me, and that gave the galaxy pause – which I," she paused tiredly, "I have to interpret as a good thing. That no one leapt up immediately to second the motion and censure me," she paused again, swallowing hard – "it indicates I am still respectable in the eyes of some."

"As you should be," Winter said mildly. She shook her head. "And I agree, that's encouraging – I thought the minister from Kalzeron would go for it, but even he was silent."

"The political factions need time to assess and plan," Bail muttered.

"Nevertheless," Leia said stiffly. "I may acquiesce to an inquiry, in an effort to explicitly reinforce my attempt at transparency – conspiracy theories are inevitable, but I have nothing to hide in my personal or political documents – no financial issues, no corruption," Leia spread her hands out. "They can investigate me, and they'll find a clean slate."

"There will always be something to find," Evaan said heavily. "Even if it's something as simple as you – perhaps influencing Han's military orders, once or twice."

She gave the example lightly, but Leia's conscience twitched and jolted suddenly – she had done such a thing, back when her father was first rediscovered. Her involvement was justified, but of course, in this political climate – it wouldn't matter.

Dansra nodded.

"Your Highness, I wouldn't agree to an inquisition just yet," she said hollowly. "They could go after Pooja, Han, and Luke – by extension."

Leia nodded vaguely – she turned her head at the mention of Han, staring out the balcony window. She so wanted Han to be left alone – and Luke, too, though there was little chance of that. She worried less about Pooja; her cousins' political acumen was impressive – but still, the other peripheral members of her family.

"Leia?" her father asked, when her silence had gone on for too long.

She took a breath, and returned to them, blinking steadily a few times.

"I'm alright," she said softly. Her brow furrowed. "Tavska, have you heard from Han?" she asked abruptly. "He never works this late. He certainly never works this late on the last day of the week."

Tavska tilted her head.

"I have not," she said slowly. "Would you like me to check his schedule?"

Leia shook her head.

"He doesn't update it," she muttered.

"Han's been doing well," Rouge remarked unexpectedly. Her tone was mild – clearly shy of giving a compliment, but her expression was sincere. "I expected fisticuffs the first time someone challenged his ego."

"I still maintain that we should allow Han fisticuffs," Winter said loudly.

Rouge gave her a pinched look, and Dansra laughed.

"He takes it out on the recruits," she snickered, grinning wryly. "Oh, what was it that someone said the other day – that simpering bitch on HoloNet Eight? Ah, she made that comment about how we're all supposed to cry for poor Princess Leia again? Han made the new mechanics run laps around the hangar."

Winter laughed gleefully, and Leia shook her head, smiling only half-heartedly – she was worried, almost to distraction, about Han, and she knew her worry nettled him. It was a – peculiar time for them both, what with Han out of his element with the politics, and with Leia's apparent calm acceptance of it all, and Leia unsure how to assuage his fears and his anger at the world.

There were only so many platitudes she could offer him – and she couldn't imagine how restless and temperamental he'd get if the threats against her worsened – he had already told her he wanted Chewbacca attached to her hip –

"Has anyone touched base with Luke today?" Dansra asked.

"I have," Bail and Winter said in unison.

Winter cleared her throat.

"He was in meditation for most of the day," she said. "Old Jedi Temple."

"A pilot he's always gotten along with tried to provoke him into a fight this morning," Bail said heavily. "The man's family had been slaughtered at the hands of Vader – Luke defused the situation but," he paused. "He's shaken."

Leia nodded, a little crestfallen – but the news was hardly revolutionary; Luke was being disillusioned in different ways than Han, but disillusioned all the same – and it meant such unsavory things for his Jedi quests.

"I ought to tell him to go off planet," she murmured.

"He won't," Winter said matter-of-factly. "This is hard for him but – he has that drive to – redeem Vader."

Leia's expression darkened for a moment.

"Winter, that might be precisely why he needs to remove himself – Luke cannot start waxing philosophical about forgiveness – not publicly,  _not_  about this man. Not now, possibly not ever," she said sharply. "His efforts interpersonally, with me – that is vastly different than insulting the feelings of an entire galaxy by asking them to forgive what Vader and the Empire he served has done to this galaxy."

Winter tilted her head, her eyes softly.

"Leia, he knows that," she said. "I've never seen anyone so cruelly awakened to that realization."

"I'm not trying to demean Luke," Leia fired back. "I know he's – suffering through this. I have to – I'm struggling with myself to maintain empathy with him, but I've got the politics to control, as well and – his mere mention of Vader's return to the light at the press conference damn near ruined relations with Ryloth," Leia said hoarsely, thinking of the tongue-lashing she'd gotten from an enraged Twi'lek minister  _– If you think for a second, Your Highness, that my world will support a government that reforms Vader's brutality into some self-sacrificing bantha shit –_

Leia shivered, and she swallowed hard, her mouth dry.

Winter sighed, grimacing at the fine line they were walking, and Leia felt weighed down with guilt – her militaristic, cool handling of the politics was starkly at odds with her ability to sensitively care about the people closest to her, and she fought every moment of the day to try to balance the two.

She knew every time she mentioned politics, it seemed as if she ruthlessly cared only for her career – yet it was hard for her to vocalize that she wanted to do good in the world, and if her power was not preserved right now – she'd be helpless to continue fighting for the progress she sacrificed her youth for.

She knew – that she was not duty-bound to atone for Vader's wrath upon the galaxy, but she felt a calling to be better, to be good – to be Alderaan's values on a larger scale, so that the tyranny of Vader was banished to the shadows, and the Skywalker legacy was that of his two rebellious children – she wanted that, not for Vader's sake, not for the sake of his soul - but for Luke's sake, for the Naberries' sake, and for the sake of –

Leia swallowed hard.

Her children, perhaps. For the sake of hers.

"We are all balanced on – such a fragile precipice, for the time being," Leia began softly – only to be interrupted by noise in the hall; the sound of Han coming home – and he was swearing.

She turned her head with a cautiously alarmed purse of her lips, her brows knitting as his swearing faded, picked up once – got louder as he got closer –

"Sweetheart," he snapped, and Leia identified a defensive, angry edge to his voice that immediately alerted her to a problem – "Don't jump down my throat."

She grit her teeth at that, moving from her position, intent on intercepting Han before he came into the sitting room and was faced with an apartment full of people he hadn't anticipated –

She failed in her quest, however – she was at the edge of the couch, the warning on her lips, when Han came around the corner into the room – his head was bowed, and he was wiping his hand across his face, so it was only when he lifted his head to look for her – and stopped dead in his tracks, at the sight of Leia's Alderaanian inner circle– that she realized he was half-covered in blood.

It appeared to be – flowing from either his nose, or perhaps a – formidable gash on his brow – and when he straightened up, bristling, no doubt gearing for a fight when he saw all the people he was confronted with – Leia noticed he was favoring his shoulder.

Her heart stuttered in her chest at the sight of him.

Leia was bombarded with such an intense scramble of emotions that she barely avoided falling back on the volatile temper of her broken princess days - her lips were parted, eyes sharp, tongue on the verge of letting loose a tense rebuke – she almost choked on the words that threatened to fly out of her mouth –  _Han, please don't tell me you've attacked someone – no, Han – no! –_

But the sour look on Han's face stopped her, and Rouge's little prissy, scandalized squawk reigned her in – the moment she heard her aunt make that noise, she swallowed her words, despite how stuck in politician mode she was at the moment.

She was aware suddenly,  _acutely_ , of her father's vibrant disapproval, his sharp political concern; it emanated off of him, though she did not even look his way to see his expression – of course Rouge's scandalized reaction was visceral, opposed as she was to violence and brawling – and to think, she had just praised Han's restraint.

_Oooh, oh Han, you let them get the best of you –_  she thought, frantically sorting herself out – she knew how important it was to soothe him, support him, be united, and never admonish him in front of her family – not like this - and yet she had impressed upon him the need for control.

Two parts of her engaged in battle: the pristine diplomat wanted to screamed at him in fury, but the wife who loved him was stricken by the blossoming bruise she noticed on his neck, and the crusted blood she saw staining his knuckles.

"Han," Rouge snapped tensely, "to think, I was just beginning to believe you had been tamed."

Ignoring Rouge's remark, Leia swept forward quickly, her hands flying up to Han's neck – behind her, she heard Winter clear her throat softly, give the hushed suggestion that they ought to leave.

Focusing herself on Han, Leia gave him a quick, quiet look, touching his throat softly – thinking in soft whispers to herself -  _I'm so mad at you; I'm so mad at you –_

Yet he was hurt, and her anger was gentle, and conflicting – she sucked in her breath, dizzy for a moment –  _what had happened, what had_  – ahhh, but that was the thing, she didn't know what had happened, and she had no right to begin berating him.

She rubbed the pads of her fingers over the bruise and tilted her head, wordlessly indicating he should follow her out of the living room.

"Leia," he started in a low growl.

She gave a small shake of her head, batting her lashes pointedly – and with that wordless communication, indicated they would wait to talk. Her hands slid down to his shoulders, and she squeezed tightly, nodding her head. Han nodded curtly, and moved past her, stubbornly looking away from the others – she listened to his footsteps fade, noted he'd gone towards their bedroom, and turned to the gathering.

"If you'll leave us," she requested simply.

Winter was the first to nod, standing and taking control. She began ushering everyone to the door – Tavska led them, ever respectful of Leia's private life; fiercely protective of it, even. While Winter placated Rouge, Bail lingered, his expression wary.

"He looked like he needed a medic," he said, and Leia was a little taken aback – surprised, but heartened that Bail's first comment had been about Han's injuries, rather than – a potential problem.

"If he does, I'll get him one," Leia said quietly. "He's tough," she said, smiling a distracted smile. "I'll take care of him."

She would reach out later and brief her father on what had happened, once she got Han's story – though she suspected, with dread, that it was likely already on the Holos.

"Winter," she began, as her father turned to go – and Winter caught her eye with an astute nod; she would begin monitoring the press immediately, and drafting potential statements – if one was needed at all.

Leia saw them out – and then she swallowed hard, bracing herself. She stood at the door for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. Her head started to throb, and her eyes stung, burning with tears – tears of stress, and nothing more.

She turned, and went down the hall to find him. He had shut himself in the 'fresher – pulled a med kit out from under the sink and was pawing through it a little blindly. Leia slipped under his arm and took a clean cloth from the medicine cabinet, wetting it with cool water.

"Sit down," she told him softly, without turning to look at him.

She thought Han was going to fight her – but after a few seconds of stiff silence, he backed away and sat down on the edge of the 'fresher basin, grimacing in discomfort. Leia wrung out the cloth so it wouldn't drip too much, and went to him, bending forward at the waist and tilting his head up.

She began with his temple, applying pressure for a few moments to stem the trickle of blood, and then gently cleaning out the gash. Gingerly, she moved to his nose – it  _was_  bleeding, but it didn't look broken – and then to his mouth. While she silently wiped the worst of the blood from him, he lifted his hand and curved it around her hip, holding on loosely.

"Leia," he said gruffly, speaking into the cloth – she moved it, pulling back to look at him. "I wasn't anglin' for a fight," he said, his jaw tensing.

He reared his head back from the cloth.

"Is it on the Holos?" Leia asked calmly.

Han shrugged roughly, bitterly. He scowled, and nodded angrily, reaching up to take the cloth from her. He ran it over his knuckles, his lips drawing back in a snarl –

"Yeah, authorities tried to drag me to lock-up, 'cept then they realized I was who I said I was."

She tilted her head and touched the bruise on his neck – darkening by the minute, and she felt a surge of violent anger that was by no means directed at Han. There was little that made her feel as sick and scared as she felt when Han was injured.

Leia compressed her lips.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You've got to hear me out, Leia – " he began, raising his voice on instinct. "It doesn't have anything to do with my ego – " he spat, his eyes narrowing at the memory of Rouge's comment.

"Han," she started.

"'M doin' what you asked – but there's a line, there's a fucking line, and if it gets crossed – "

"Han," Leia interrupted, gentle but firm. "I want to hear your side."

She took a step back, and sat down on the sani, pulling the med kit into her lap. Calmly, she reached for his hand, and pulled it towards her, drawing out some bacta gel for the busted knuckles, and some tape to cover the open wounds with.

"What happened?" she repeated.

Han's hand flexed in her grip, and he leaned forward, his other fist clenching against his knee.

"Lost a contract," he muttered. "S'why I was so late – Rieekan needed a replacement quick, so I was tryin' to get something through Lando since this – since I lost one."

"A contract for what?" Leia asked.

Han didn't answer right away.

"Engines, for the new fleet," he muttered evasively. "The Mon Calamari were going to build – got a damn good deal, specialized water-based fuel," he trailed off, grimacing. "Withdrew last minute, and Ackbar couldn't get 'em to come back."

Leia paused in the silence, staring at his injured knuckles. She closed her eyes, her lips trembling.

"Wasn't 'cause of you," Han said tersely. "Wasn't a Vader thing."

Leia opened her eyes, clearing her throat softly – speaking matter-of-factly.

"It was," she corrected, "or you wouldn't have said that without me asking."

Han grit his teeth, shrugged, and Leia looked up at him with a grim smile.

"They must think there is truth to the theory that I've aimed to usurp Palpatine all along."

Han scowled, swore under his breath.

"If anyone thinks that of you – " he started, and Leia just shook her head. She turned back to his hands, and inclined her head.

"You were pissed already," she said slowly, touching his knuckles. "You – heard someone slur me?"

Han wrenched his hand away, his muscles stiffening.

"No – that's not it," he snapped harshly, and Leia leaned forward, her eyes on his earnestly. "'M  _tamer_  than that," he said sardonically, using Rouge's words again. "I didn't just haul off and beat some guy."

Han leaned forward, swallowing hard, the cold cloth clenched tightly in his hand.

"I noticed someone followin' me, from Headquarters – saw 'im again, after I checked on the  _Falcon_. I've had more'n one death mark on me, Leia – I  _know_  when I'm bein' followed."

He paused, and sat up straighter, holding out his palm aggressively and talking with his hands.

"I turn around and confront the bastard – big guy, muscular, had a couple faded Black Sun tattoos – ask 'im what kind of problem he's got with me. He says," Han's face contorted bitterly, "he says he's got no problem with me, but he's got a couple friends who'd like my wife's head on a stick."

Leia winced slightly, hardly needing to see the remnants of Han's fight to understand why he'd been provoked.

"I told 'im to get lost," Han said roughly. "I figured he was – you know, you said they'd have people try to provoke me – he  _kept_  followin' me, Leia," Han said. His voice cracked. "Said – I'd have to go home some time, and then I'd lead 'im right to you," he said, "so I turn around to grab 'im, make myself a little more clear – "

He broke off, shaking his head.

"He was  _followin'_  me," he said aggressively. "There's – people tryin' to figure out where we live, Leia, trying to get at you!" he growled. "I'm not layin' down for that. That's a line I'm not lettin' anybody cross, and I don't give a damn – "

Leia touched his cheek to silence him, her eyes boring into his.

"Where is your blaster?" she asked softly.

Han looked down to his holster, and grabbed at it, his fingers slipping – she noticed it was slick with congealed blood.

"S'not my blood," he mumbled. "The guy tried to get my own blaster out on me," he growled. He shifted, wincing hard with the movement, and reached into his vest, rummaging around a bit until he untucked his shirt and pulled the blaster, locked on safe, out of his waistband. "I concealed it on the way back," he said grudgingly.

He leaned forward and placed it on the floor beside his foot. He rubbed his forehead gingerly, and swore hoarsely when it sent a burst of pain through his skull.

"This man," Leia asked. "Is he…?"

Han was quiet, and Leia held her breath – even in self-defense, if Han had killed someone – this wasn't Mos Eisley, this wasn't the lawless Rebellion, this was –

"In custody," Han snapped bitterly. "I set it to stun," he said, nodding jerkily at the blaster on the floor.

Leia reached for his hand, her fingertips barely brushing it – and Han jerked away, shaking his head. His lip shook violently as he looked up at her, his jaw tense, a vein throbbing in his temple.

"You've got me trained, alright," he said sourly. "Got me all trained up, a real political dream, actin' all nice and toeing the line," he went on icily. "That guy'll make bail easy, Sweetheart, and then what? Or what if it's someone else? I haven't been in a good fight in a while – is that what tame is, lettin' someone get to you, through me?"

Leia reached for his hand again, and this time she held it steady – she felt dizzy again, and her heart stuttered in fear. More than anything, Han's experience alarmed her – if she had minor concerns about the security of their home, they were now major.

"I know I keep putting you in a bad position," she began in a low voice.

"It's not that, Leia – I get that you're not supposed to be violent, and you've got to do your – stoic thing – and I probably – fucked things up for you – but I can't put up with this, I can't watch you put up with it," he grit his teeth, "some bastard damn got the drop on me because you want me turnin' the other cheek and being docile – and that ain't me."

Leia's eyes stung. She dipped her head for a moment, lifted it – and looked away. She wasn't upset because Han –  _fucked things up for her_  – she was upset because he'd been hurt; he'd felt threatened enough, seriously threatened enough, to physical respond, and that was a fair response.

She was bombarded again with her guilt – had she been foolish, selfish, to lay her family history bare on a public alter, all in the hopes that an unveiling of secrets would cleanse the galaxy, would allow her, and Luke, to embark on their goals for peace and justice with clear consciences?

She had once told Han she never expected him to start shouldering politics simply because he was married to her, and married to her status, and yet here she was, clearly making him feel either belittled or caged – no; caged was the wrong word – belittled was better – Han was not a stain on her, he wasn't a burden.

"Han," she began, her voice shaky. "You had every right," she said.

She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and pushed the med kit off her lap, shifting to her knees. She knelt between his legs, resting her elbows on his knees, and stretching up to pull his face down to hers, her wrist shaking slightly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I – I thought this was best. I thought the truth was the best course of action."

"Maybe it wasn't," Han said bitterly.

Leia's face was pale, conflicted.

"Do you know how much worse it would have been if someone found out?" she asked hoarsely. Her words trembled as she forced them out. "I just want – to be in control of this. It's my story – "

Han turned his head, his lips brushing her palm. He closed his eyes tightly, and then nodded – he thought she was right, from her point of view – the political point of view - but from his –

_Kriff,_  he just wanted them to leave her alone.

"I'll handle it," she assured him.

Han shrugged.

"Toss the blame on me," he muttered. "I don't regret it."

Her fingers slipped into his hair.

"I won't do that," she said simply. "You aren't my scapegoat," she said huskily. "You don't fuck things up for me," she said softly. "Han, it's going to get worse before it mellows out. You'll get used to it."

He shook his head, and she stroked his hair soothingly.

"You will," she said softly. "Hey, I can promise you that." She smiled a little wearily. "My first year in the Senate, an Imperial officer told me I'd get more done if I used my mouth for everything but talking," she told him calmly, "and I called my mother and I cried – and then I got used to that sort of thing."

Han turned back to look at her.

"Don't tell me that," he said hoarsely. "I don't want to get used to people saying these things about you."

He studied her intently for a long moment of silence.

"You okay?" he asked.

Leia compressed her lips.

"I can handle this, Han," she said, repeating a platitude she'd uttered a hundred times – generic, cool answer; that slightly mechanical attitude coming out, the one that worried him.

He didn't say anything; he bowed his head. When he looked back up, he seemed tired – defeated.

"Why don't we go to Corellia?" he asked dully. "Look, let's just – I know you've got to do your thing," he said grudgingly, "but for a few weeks, let's just go  _away_. Get away from this. Wouldn't hurt."

She bit her lip, stroking his jaw – but it would hurt; it would look cowardly. And in her absence, there would be a vacuum, and it would be filled with whatever narrative anyone saw fit to insert – and she would lose this battle faster than she could blink.

"I have to stay," she said. "I want to stay. Han, the Empire didn't break me. I want the galaxy to see me take this in stride." She swallowed hard. "I didn't…go through all I went through, coming to terms with myself to – let them take it all away."

Han smiled a little at that, and Leia hesitated.

"If you," she began.

She sighed, and relaxed a little, dropping her arms to his legs. She rested them over his knees, her legs tucked under her on the floor, and looked at his chest a moment, before tilting her head up.

"If you want to go, you ought to," she said quietly. She nodded a little. "Go to the cabin and – tune it out. Invite Maiah and Iver. You are not obligated to – get hurt, because you're a proxy for me – and I do not want this stress on your shoulders – "

Han's brow furrowed angrily.

"Is it easier for your bureaucratic games if I leave?" he snapped.

Leia's eyes flashed.

"That is not what I just said," she snapped – right back; matched his tone, his force, everything, and Han heard it, and scaled back, appalled at himself for lashing out.

He wiped his hand across his mouth gingerly.

"You want me to leave, Leia?" he asked heavily.

He looked at her so tiredly for a moment, unsure what she wanted - did she want him to leave because she thought he couldn't behave, because she thought he was a political threat to her? Or did she honestly want him to take a step back because she knew he hated the politics, and she would be okay with him shirking away for this -

Leia looked up at him from the floor, her head tilted at the perfect angle to meet his eyes, see every wound on his face, from the cut above his eye, to the bruise on his neck.

She did not hesitate; she shook her head.

" _No_ ," she answered, her lashes heavy with tears. She choked out a laugh. "I want to go to Kashyyyk," she said, mustering up a joke lightly. "I want to have sex in a tree." She licked her lips. "I can't," she said softly. "I have to be here."

She shook her head again.

"Han, I just – don't want you to feel the way you're feeling – you're miserable."

He looked at her for a moment, and then shifted, moving off the edge of the 'fresher basin and sitting on the floor. He reached out and ran his hands down her sides, pulling her up a little, and closer to him – and now she was easily eye level, and he could feel how tense her muscles were underneath her skin – skin that was thick as steel, armor that she'd built up over the years.

He cupped her cheek in his hand.

"Not miserable," he muttered. "'M just…I hate 'em for giving a damn," he said hollowly. "You said it'd be bad. What gets me – is the  _good_  guys turnin' on you."

Han hated how unprepared he was for all of this – he'd never been someone who thought people were inherently good, or had much faith in anyone but himself – and still it baffled him that so many people looked at Leia different because of – an accident of birth.

"I warned you," Leia said softly.

"Guess I didn't listen."

She made a little face as if to say – typical, and Han pulled her face closer, pressing his lips against hers. She shifted her body, and curled up in between his legs, leaning into him heavily, relaxing.

She wrinkled her nose, and Han pulled back, reaching up to touch his lips. Leia nodded, making a face – when she parted her lips, Han saw blood on her teeth, and she sat back up a little.

"You're still bleeding," she noted, the coppery taste of blood coating her tongue – she sucked in her breath, considering, for a moment, making a vulgar comment that Winter would no doubt appreciate –

Han laughed dryly, wiping at his lip – he still had a cut near his gums that wasn't clotted, and that was the culprit – he grimaced lightly, and then winked at Leia.

"So, tell me, Princess, what tastes better, my blood or – "

Leia brought her hand down on his chest hard, smacking him once with her palm, then turning her hand over and smacking him with the back of her hand – her cheeks flushed, and she shrieked at him –

" _Han_!"

"Aw, you didn't think I'd pass that up –

" _I-was going-to make-that-joke!"_  she protested, and he gave a startled laugh to hear that she was slapping him for stealing her thunder, rather than being crass.

He laughed again, deeper this time, and pulled her close for another kiss – this one well aware of this inconvenient injury, and carless of it – and even as she wrinkled her nose, and mumbled a few choice swear words at him for his vulgarity, she kissed him back – for quite a while, until the kiss had eased the tension on both of them, and she pulled away to look at him eye-to eye.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and put her arms around his neck, interlacing her fingers behind his head.

"I need to clean you up," she said softly, "and – we'll talk," she promised. "We'll talk more about – how we can get each other through this."

Han nodded firmly, relieved to hear her say that – as it stood now, it had only been – a handful of days, a week and a half – and going forward, they needed to establish a rhythm, a system for how to deal with their responses to this, and the pressures they were under – grudgingly, Han knew his altercation would probably mean an unleashing of the Kath hounds –

The shock had all but worn off, and now – open season.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: part 2; 7 scenes !

_Part 2:_

_Intermediate Backlash_

_6 ABY_

* * *

Bail Organa was no stranger to intergalactic unrest. Having come of age during the tumultuous era that preceded the outbreak of actual civil war, governing during that war, and subsequently having cultivated an insurgency under the nose of the tyranny that emerged from the ashes of  _that very same war_ , he was well versed in how to navigate precarious politics.

He faced the harsh discord produced by his daughter's revelation with grace, and he faced it relatively well. He was rattled, in the most predictable of ways, by the vitriol directed at her by some – curiously, unexpectedly vindictive, in some cases, as if certain allies had been waiting to see her fall – he was heartened by the support of others. Overall, he was properly fortified for the current climate; perhaps, along with Leia, he was the most prepared for the onslaught. He knew politics, and more importantly, he knew  _Coruscant,_ power politics, having been in the heart of them for most of his life. Throughout all of the prep they had gone through, all of the hypothetical situations, and crafting of potential statements – and in spite of the deeply personal pain of watching his daughter, and his and her whole families, brace against this, and suffer – he had known he would prefer it to bloodshed and outright battle.

In the depths of his heart, and in the roots of his very being, he was first and foremost a pacifist; Alderaanian to the core, he fiercely believed that if they could just get through this – and get through this they would – any possible relapses into war would become even more remote; transparency, as Leia had originally said, would engender even more stability – and she and her former rebels would hold the peace, and hand off an even greater, lasting peace to the next generation.

He  _believed_  in that – he believed in his daughter, and to an extent – he believed in sentient beings, of all kinds, because if life was truly as selfish, hostile, and brutish as the more pessimistic of philosophers claimed, it would have wiped itself out long before complex societies had taken hold.

Ah, and yet – though he intellectually believed in greater goods, and the propensity for progress, and though he stood strong and stoic against the oncoming storm – he did, still, give himself time, in the more private moments, to be disheartened, and angry.

He had, as Leia had, prepared for the worst, and been resigned to it; perhaps more so than her, he had hoped it would all mean nothing to those who had seen her fight –

But the body politic was a faithful foe, and it raged.

Long-lived and experienced as he was – there were moments, and a frightening abundance of moments, at that – during which Bail felt  _useless_ ; during which a troublesome weight of helplessness descended upon him. He was the Viceroy of Alderaan, an enduring elder of one of the most trusted, virtuous royal houses the galaxy had ever recognized – his culture had been renowned for honesty,  _respected_  for its ethics and good nature, and he had felt that surely – surely that would colour the public's reaction to Leia's heritage.

_Heritage_  – and such a meaningless thing, at that, at the end of the day – Bail's stomach twisted angrily, miserably, when they mentioned Vader as Leia's father, not only because he knew it was meant as a dig at her, but because that old, withering Sith had never been her father; not even Anakin Skywalker qualified as her father – he had not caught her when she took her first steps, comforted her when the world was cruel – it baffled Bail, as much as it angered him, that in the snap of a finger, Leia was being stripped of her connection to Alderaan in the Organas in the eyes of the Media and the influential political elite.

She was  _Aldera_  educated; she was  _Antilles_  and  _Organa_  and  _Alderaan_  raised – and even if they suddenly refused to acknowledge that, she was the blood relative of Padmé Naberrie, one of Naboo's most beloved queens! Incredible how easily and how cruelly that aspect of the revelation was shunted to the side – even more sinister was how they dared try to blacken the Naberrie name because of it.

Bail was overwhelmed not with the uproar, but with the willingness that suddenly existed to saddle Leia with Vader's crimes, with Imperial crimes, to ignore the people who stood around her – Alderaanians, members of the Rebellion who knew her motives and had been led by her – and instead concoct conspiracy theories and decide she was a sinister figure, not to be trusted –

In a curious way, the adamant desire many beings seemed to have to link Leia forever with Vader dismantled any subtle, subconscious biases the Viceroy ever harbored when it came to class, family – bloodlines, and heritage, that persistent word – he found himself realizing, to the full extent, how frustrating his inherent elitism must have seemed back when he was incensed at the idea of a daughter of his house, his royal family, married to a smuggler –

And now, all he could think was – how could any of that ever have mattered at all, when he treats her so well? – the same as he watched the Media circus unfold and silently asked – how does disgraced, dead Vader matter at all when Leia was never taught by him, never raised by him, didn't know about him – when it is the chosen family, and the self-elected path, that matters in life – rather than predetermination, or the harmful notion that nature rules character?

He contemplated how powerless he was in this new world order – not in an ambitious, or bitter manner, but because he lacked the agency to help where he wanted to – he felt more and more like a relic, sage and safe, but possessed of the wrong sort of wisdom for the age – his brand of wisdom had died with the decaying Old Republic. It wasn't worth listening to because it had not saved them then – and the galaxy was different now –

Often, with a wry smile, Bail wondered if this was how Yoda had felt, all those lonely years hiding and brooding on Dagobah, waiting for his final padawan.

He had anticipated himself bursting back into prominence, bearing the brunt of this backlash for Leia, because he had raised her into it without her consent, and without her knowledge; she had only been enlightened at the end, while the years of deception were his sin and his alone – but he was quickly disabused of that notion.

The galaxy cared about the  _now_ , not the  _then –_ and Leia was in power now, while Bail was a figurehead, a fading leader of a lost planet.

No matter how many statements he made, no matter how hard he tried to reign in the criticism and spite and direct it at himself, questions instead went to her – had she lied, had Alderaan always been in league with the Empire – could she be trusted now, what other ruses lie in store – would she and Luke bind the galaxy in a chokehold that continued their father's legacy?

It all led Bail to reflect – what could he have done differently, if anything? Was Ruwee Naberrie right – should he have taken Leia to Naboo, surrendered her to blood relatives as Obi-Wan had done with Luke? Would she have never faced this – but that led to the question of whether she'd have survived at all, a mysterious newborn suddenly taken in by Padmé's family – and if she had, Yoda and Ben would have gone forth with their plans, and Leia, somehow, would have been drawn in –

No matter how he worked it, Bail saw no alternative that would have left Luke and Leia in a life of obscurity, not when there had been living people who knew of their birth, not with the blood that ran in their veins, the sensitivity that answered to something greater – he concluded, in each scenario, that there were different paths to the same end - but the end remained.

Bail's time spent in quiet, pained abstract silence increased as the days tumbled on into weeks, and everything seemed to be coming to an apex – slow, shocked reactions had morphed into political maneuvering, conspiracy theories that had been half-baked were now full-fledged and in many cases, jeopardizing– and Leia's political career was figuratively and literally on trial – her career was threatened, her life itself was threatened.

Hosting her in his home now, these past two weeks – and for the unspecified future – he was not even able to enjoy it. On the advice of her security team and even a legal advisor, Leia had temporarily moved to the Embassy until things settled and there was absolute certainty that her home was uncompromised – one thing Bail had been right about was Han's reaction to the suggestion; the moment he was told Leia's life had been subjected to a credible threat, he had all but packed her things for her and delivered her to the Embassy doorstep, Chewbacca on her heels.

It was one of the many things recently Bail was grateful to Han for – he had not a word of complaint for staying at the Embassy with her while things were figured out. He harassed Rouge and did his best to irritate his father-in-law, but for the most part – aside from that violent hiccup in the beginning – Han made so many things easier on Leia.

And – if Bail were asked, he'd say that Han's actions were justified, when he assaulted the Black Sun gang member who had stalked him home one day – and Bail had said as much, though diplomatically, and to the chagrin of a few who decided to call it a symptom of Alderaan's shift towards brute violence – engendered by their bastard Princess.

Lost in his reverie, Bail looked forward at the flickering holo mounted on the wall of Embassy living quarter's spacious study. The device was sectioned into four separate channels, all running simultaneously as Leia, curled in a stiff ball across the room, paid rapt attention to the news monologues – Bail alternated between watching her, watching the strangers on screen, and fading into his head, tiredly asking himself when it would be over.

It was unnerving to have Leia home at all hours, home during the day – had Alderaan survived, had she married a fellow member of the elder houses, Leia would have never moved out of the palace back in Aldera – when home on planet, she'd have stayed there, her ancestral home – and so there should be no strangeness to sharing a palatial place with her here on Coruscant – but the drastic changes in tradition since the war, coupled with Leia's suddenly empty schedule, made all of it seem eerie, seem –

Cataclysmic.

Leia's activities had come to a screeching halt since she had boldly decided to allow for a federal inquiry, to lay bare that she had nothing to hide – and that inquiry was coming to a close; Leia was home, absorbed in watching coverage of everything under the stars, going on her seventh day of being barred from her office, and any political involvement.

Mon Mothma had made no move to silence demands that Leia be at least sanctioned, if not removed – and Leia had pre-empted a second to a motion to suspend her by acquiescing to the inquiry, elegantly nixing the attempt to take her out of power in one fell swoop.

It was – strong, as she always was, but Bail watched it take its toll on her – that, along with her lack of safety in her home, along with Han's stress, Luke's stress, and the personal attacks – he knew she was angry; he knew she was getting restless, indignant, and he was wary of how it all might turn out.

Rouge came into the room, her face pinched and drawn – the toll this had taken on her was visible on her face; her eyes were red, her lips always parched – she struggled with a fundamental loss of faith in the goodness of people, and while Bail had never known his sister to be particularly naïve, she had always been rather easily shocked.

"Are we watching this drivel?" Rouge asked tightly, standing behind the sofa Leia reclined on her, her hands clutching at the back of it. "Leia, I thought you had told us all it was best not to," she said heavily, her eyes fixed on the screens – Leia had set it so that subtitled translations ran across the bottom of each.

" _You_  ought not to," Leia answered, her voice starting off sharp and harsh, but softening, as she realized how she sounded – and Bail felt a surge of pride, that she so quickly caught herself, and metered her reaction.

She turned her head up, her lips curving up in a small, mirthless smile.

"Best practice to refrain," she advised calmly. "I – have to amend my personal engagement with it," she went on, "as it's imprudent for me to insulate myself from what's being said, considering I am also not allowed at my office."

Rouge grit her teeth.

"I still do not see the value in banning you from your duties, from even being in your office, simply because there is a supreme inquiry – "

"To preserve integrity," Leia murmured, turning back to the screens. "That way, if I am found to be corrupt, they ordered cessation of my duties as quickly as they could; there is no accusation that I was left to orchestrate some last minute tricks."

Rouge put her hand to her forehead.

"You aren't corrupt, though," she said, half to herself – tired of hearing such a thing, tired of living in a reality where anyone considered it.

"That we all know," Bail said, sharing a look with Leia, and then visiting a sympathetic look on his sister. "It'll take its course, Rouge," he encouraged stoically. "They'll find nothing to indict Leia."

"Of course they won't," Rouge agreed tartly. "She's done nothing to warrant even the suggestion of dishonor!"

Leia waved her hand flippantly.

"Nothing, nothing at all," she said smoothly. "All I've done is – allow my husband to assault private citizens with no repercussions, ahhh, purposefully deceive the leadership into giving me a full position of power, use my Ambassador ship to re-invigorate Imperial support under guise of peace – ah, and collaborate with my brother, the Sith lord, to quietly create an army of Sith secret police, rather than Jedi."

Leia traced her finger along her lip coolly, ignoring the looks her father and Rouge gave her.

She lifted one shoulder casually, keeping her face schooled, her eyes wide and unassuming.

"I'm merely reporting my crimes as they are discussed."

"There are hosts of people who do not believe those theories, Leia," Bail said quietly.

She nodded, but said nothing, her eyes narrowing – she nudged the volume for the holo with a tendril of energy, a gentle utilization of the Force, and a young newscaster could be heard in deep conversation with her co-host –

" _Of course they say, again and again, that she's nothing like him – she was raised on Alderaan, and they're pacifists – a bit hard to believe, considering Alderaan's deep involvement in the war – "_

" _Yes, what does that have to say about it?" a male co-host laughed meanly. "She's raised by pacifists, and when she becomes a teenager, what's the first thing she does? Joins a terrorist organization."_

Leia's jaw twitched as she rolled her eyes, and Bail's eyes narrowed.

"Terrorist," he began. "Terrorist – I take offense to the suggestion that a justified insurgency – "

As he spoke, another member on the news program in question piped up in tandem, as if he'd somehow, over the wavelengths, heard Bail's indignation.

" _Oh, come now, you cannot – honestly attempt to retroactively define history in that manner, and certainly not when it's so fresh it's barely history – the Rebellion, a terrorist organization? Even if you have doubts about Princess Leia's character at this point, accusing her of such is hardly fair, and it's dishonest semantics –"_

" _Dishonest semantics or not, you must remember – the Rebellion did terrible things. They won, they fought an Empire – but the Rebellion did terrible things."_

Leia was silent, even as Bail grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes – because she had little response to that, she had hardly any argument; that assessment was correct – the Rebellion had. It was war, and the Rebellion had –

But it had been necessary, and Leia –

"I did my best never to give an order that took gratuitous or innocent life," she said quietly.

Rouge bent to kiss her forehead, and retreated for a moment, disappearing out of the room.

Leia's eyes shifted, and Bail heard another volume move up – the next program, one young woman arguing aggressively in Leia's favor –

" _This response has been heinous – it was not even Princess Leia's cover-up, it was Bail Organa's – if the public feels lied to, how must she feel? The Princess has never been a cruel leader, and to suggest she is now – "_

"Ah, so there is some sense out there," Bail said dryly, while Leia turned her ears slightly towards another screen.

" _We aren't about sensationalized reporting, here; the important facts remain – Ambassador Organa's inquiry continues, conclusion is impending, and a decision on her comportment while in office is said to be announced by the end of the week – I won't give a personal opinion on air, but suffice it to say that this network certainly hopes the courts and investigators are more objective than a Media obsessed with rampant speculation – "_

Leia sat forward, uncurling her feet and leaning up. She rested her elbows on her knees and rubbed her temple tightly, closing her eyes and staring down for a moment.

"Father," she asked, glancing up. "Have you heard anything from Mon?"

He noticed her eyes were red, perhaps a little wet, and his heart went out to her – he knew, more than anyone, how much Leia loved her job, loved her calling to politics, to leadership –

He shook his head.

"Nothing material," he said heavily, bitter honesty in his tone. "I had thought – Lelila, I had thought she would be more aggressive in defense of you – "

Leia waved her hand, turning her head to the side. She took a deep breath.

"Refusing to act unilaterally in my removal is as much as she can give me," she said tightly. "If she were to dismiss any concerns, even if they are," Leia grit her teeth, "unfounded," she growled – "she'd be accused of refusing to honor democracy," Leia trailed off.

She brushed her fingertips against her brow lightly.

"She is in a delicate position," she remarked.

Bail nodded – and he understood, yet still he wished – and deep down, he wanted to take Mon Mothma aside and demand she speak out for Leia – he had mentored Mon, and in turn, she had taken Leia under her wing when Leia was just a girl, and they all owed each other –

"You are to be in Court in two days?" Bail asked.

Leia nodded, swallowing hard.

"For the verdict on my inquisition," she paused. "They questioned Carlist about your rescue today," she said softly. She lifted her eyes. "The whole council – even Threkin Horm," she said. "To determine if I – abused New Republic funds on a barely possible, highly dangerous rescue mission," she shook her head.

Leia laughed a little tightly, in disbelief.

"I  _recused_  myself from the decision, Father," she said. "It was the hardest thing I'd ever done, but I did the right thing."

Bail nodded.

"I have faith that you always have, Leia," he said solemnly. "Even this…maudlin as it is – it is the right thing, considering what you want for the future."

Leia pressed her lips together tightly, and lifted her shoulders. She breathed out, short and frustrated.

"I am so tired of this," she said quietly – and then a moment later, she gave another disbelieving little laugh, looking back at him wryly. "You know I – said the same thing, after the first briefing I received about your distress signal," she confessed.

Bail looked at her curiously.

"That you were tired?"

"Mmhmm," Leia murmured. "I can't remember if I've told you this – Han went with me, to the meeting. Mon Mothma pulled me aside to counsel me about him," Leia tilted her head. She furrowed her brow. "It was when the Media was obsessed with my affair with him," she said softly. "Mon asked me if I was sleeping with him. She had that much nerve."

Bail gave her a wary look.

"And I'm sure you told her that you were not, as you never have," he said seriously, narrowing his eyes with a stern joke.

Leia blinked a little, and smiled wryly at her father, appreciative of the jest.

"Never," she agreed. "We live a celibate life."

"Well, that doesn't seem like a particularly thrilling manner in which to be married," Rouge said, coming back into the room and marching around the sofa to take a seat.

Leia gave her an amused look, and Bail shook his head.

"You are a constant surprise, Ro," he said dryly.

She smiled a bit, and sat down near Leia, turning to her, clearing her throat and speaking over the drone of the holo.

'There is no derision to be found in the Alderaanian community, Leia," she said, quiet and serious. "I work closer with most of them than any of us – Winter and I," she said. "When the inquiry is over, you need to let them speak out."

Leia sighed uncomfortably.

"I don't want it to seem as if I am ordering the diaspora to support me – "

"No one will see it as such! Pooja Naberrie has the Queen of Naboo offering firm support, and no one is accusing her of manipulation – "

"Pooja doesn't have the power I have, Rouge, and it's easy to believe Naboo would support a daughter of Naberrie blood," Leia said, her voice strained. "I – believe me, I would agree with you, but things are," she gestured at the television, "things are – I prepared for certain accusations, and yet there are still hateful things even I didn't imagine."

Bail leaned forward.

"Leia, they want to speak."

Leia rubbed her forehead, turning dolorously to the holo.

"Let it wait until after the inquiry verdict," she murmured. "At least when it is proven that I have no corruption in my work – the positive support can take a firmer hold, I can come out of this – limbo."

She fixated on the screen, reading Han's name in one of the subtitles, and nudged the volume for that one – a talk show, one of the daily ones that discussed social issues.

_Limbo_ , Bail thought – limbo, it was such a quintessential word for the way things kept rising and falling, the ups and downs and pros and cons of everything going on – Leia had timed her agreement to the inquiry so perfectly, right as the galactic senate ended its session for a stretch of a few weeks, so no new issues could be raised through proper channels – limbo for her, limbo for her political opponents –

Leia raised her chin suddenly, her eyes narrowing at the discussion that so lightly rose on screen.

" _He's always been a brawler – a common thug, fighting in the streets – you know he's not only a former imperial officer, but a runner for a drug kingpin – and to think, this fairytale scandal was so popular for a while – "_

" _It's no wonder – it makes sense now, of course, why they let her get away with marrying someone so far beneath her, considering – "_

Sitting in the study with her father, trapped almost – she seemed to feel trapped, sometimes – in the Embassy quarters, she found herself closer to bursting into tears than she had been for this entire firestorm – Bail watched her clench her fists, her eyes water heavily. She started to lash out with her power and snap the power off, but in a split second she recognized that as an angry use of her sensitivity, and resisted it, lest she shatter the screen or - align herself with the darker side of the Force.

"Turn it off," she hissed.

Bail lurched forward and did so, looking warily at Rouge out of the corner of his eye. Rouge stared at the now translucent screen, her face unreadable, and Bail leaned forward and sighed cautiously.

"You know," he soothed heavily, "how some of these old families can be Leia – how the social climbers can be."

She sat forward sharply – passionately.

"Yes," she agreed viciously, and jabbed her finger at the clear, innocent screen, "and they can say whatever they want about me, Father. They can degrade me, and spit on me – I do not care what they say about me," she said, her voice cracking. "But Han?"

She shook her head, placing her palm flat against her chest, her eyes stinging.

"They can't. I won't stand for it." She bit her lip hard. "He is the one person who has loved me no matter what, through all of this.  _All of it._  He's better. He is better than all of them."

She clenched her teeth, protective of him, and all he meant to her – Han had been so battered by all of this, Bail knew it as well as Leia did – only recently had he gotten his footing back and fortified himself in a rhythm with Leia – it was one of the few things that rattled her instantly, any attack on Han.

Bail clasped his hands, nodding. He hesitated – and decided not to speak, though he felt a twinge of hurt, for a moment, to think that Leia felt Han was truly the only person who loved her through all of this – was Bail's love unimportant, was Luke's – the Naberries'? But he counseled himself fairly – Leia's bond with Han was uniquely different from all others, just as Bail's with Breha had been.

She didn't mean to disparage the other support in her life, and he reminded himself of that, and he bit his tongue.

Rouge folded her arms, her lips pursing scornfully.

"Let you marry him!" she quoted indignantly. "It wasn't a matter of  _letting_  you, was it? You were going to marry Han no matter what we said. As is fitting for a woman with your education and independence, I suppose," she shook her head, and sniffed, while Leia looked at her admiringly. "Let," she repeated, scowling.

Leia tilted her head over, her eyes red, and fought with a small smile, holding back tears.

Rouge shook her head at the holo, her profile turned away from it disdainfully.

"Really, this is offensive. Han's had more manners about the whole thing than most of the old high courtiers," Rouge grumbled stiffly.

Taking a deep breath, Leia smiled more fully.

"I think he'd like to hear you've come around to him, Aunt Rouge," she said gently.

Rouge shrugged a little warily - she said, matter-of-factly -

"No, your husband and I have a relationship that is cheerful with animosity."

\- and Leia laughed, and Bail shook his head wryly, amused to see Rouge be the one to cheer Leia for once, instead of inadvertently irritate her, or say something that hit the wrong mark.

"I must admit, it has been – less traumatic than I expected, living with Han," Rouge said thoughtfully.

"Your suite is on the top floor," Bail reminded her. "You are hardly inconvenienced by him."

Rouge nodded primly.

"I rather think those most inconvenienced are the kitchen staff," Bail went on with a snort. "Leia, is there anyway you can make Han stop harassing them?"

"Not unless they start putting more spice in the food," Leia murmured, thinking of Han's maddening tendency to go poke around in the kitchen around meal times and try to take over the job of cooking.

Rouge smiled placidly, and lifted her head, listening.

"That's him," Leia murmured, tilting her head back – she heard heavy footsteps far off, at the entrance to the residence – and only one person staying here at the moment walked so heavily.

The three of them waited for Han's appearance, Bail with a narrow expression on his face, because he knew, when Han walked in that door, he'd catch sight of Leia and – solely to irritate a father's sensibilities –

"Hey,  _Sweetheart_ ," Han greeted slyly, shooting Bail a smug glance as he strolled over to the sofa – he leaned down, grasped her chin gently, and tilted her head back, bending down to kiss her.

Bail rolled his eyes – having been married, he was no stranger to the ritual of kissing one's spouse upon arriving home, but after the first few days of Han barging in the door in the evening and practically jumping down Leia's throat, Bail had accused him of doing it just to be obnoxious.

Han's asinine response had been to inform him that he was being entirely respectable, as he usually kissed her 'somewhere else.'

Bail felt a surge of appreciation for his sister when she reached over and slapped Han lightly in the back of the head.

"Save it," she ordered sternly, her matronly expression brooking no argument.

"For what, Aunt Rouge?" Han asked innocently, and then straightened up a little, running his thumb over Leia's jaw.

He seemed about to tease Rouge further, and then paused, frowning.

"Your eyes are red," he noted suspiciously.

He looked to Bail immediately. Leia reached up and grasped Han's wrist.

"Don't worry," she murmured.

Han looked uneasy.

"Where's Chewie?" he asked.

"I sent him with Luke," Leia placated. "Luke was going to – talk to some protestors near the Old Jedi temple site. He wanted to speak with them personally," she said. "I didn't want him alone, and I thought he'd seem too militant if I sent guards with him."

"I want Chewie with you," Han retorted tensely.

"The directive you gave Chewie means he listens to me," Leia said gently. "Han, I'm safe here all day. Luke's life is important, too."

Han looked mollified, and blinked. He nodded, and straightened up a little –

"S'long as you don't go out without him," Han muttered.

"There is that we have in common, Han," Rouge sniffed. "I do like that big Wookiee following her and menacing threats."

Han nodded smugly.

"Yeah, me too."

Leia rolled her eyes a little, and Han looked over her head.

"What's the Holo run down today, Dad?" he asked sarcastically. His hand fluttered over Leia's hair – and Bail sensed he was asking because of her red eyes.

He considered his son-in-law for a moment – Han had gotten extremely reticent, in the past couple of weeks, carefully hiding his frustration and animosity at the situation, and channeling it all into both concern for Leia's safety, and being impenetrable – and Bail knew it took a lot for Han not to react to things, with his temper as short as it was.

"Oh, they were being mean to you," Rouge remarked wryly. "That is why Lelila here got her tears and her claws out."

It was a teasing, but kind remark, and Han looked down at Leia.

"Ah, y'know I don't care, Princess," he said smoothly.

"I care," she said – and Bail watched her body tense suddenly, tighten up like it had when she heard the remarks. "I am – I put myself on trial, I am well aware of that, but their treatment of you – vicious, heinous," she bared her teeth, a sardonic sneer creasing her brow. "I want to rip their tongues out every time I hear it – or revoke their broadcasting license."

Han laughed a little dryly, giving a shrug to sooth her, and Bail looked at her profile narrowly, his brow furrowing – he felt like the gatekeeper of Leia's good sense, of her morals, because he'd instilled them in her, and somehow, though he thought she was joking, he blurted into a paternal diatribe –

"That sounds totalitarian, Leia," Bail said sharply.

Taken aback, Leia turned her head, her face falling into an unreadable mask. Han's head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed tightly, almost incredulous – but Bail felt it was – not necessary, but somehow important to say, because Leia's most significant trigger was threats to Han, or mistreatments of Han, and Bail knew, he  _knew,_  that it was love that could so often lead people astray –

His daughter looked at him silently for a very long time, and then got up, Han's hand sliding off of her, and left the sitting room – she disappeared, and Bail did not even hear the slam of the door that lead to the suite she and Han were staying in.

Han stared after her for a moment, and then turned to look at Bail, his expression irritable. Bail was reminded of a time when Han would have lost his composure, even shouted, and it was a testament to their stronger relationship that Han just shook his head tightly.

He rubbed his forehead.

"Why'd you say that?" he asked tiredly. He shifted forwards, stretching out his shoulders as he started to stand up straight, his jaw tight. "Why the hell would you say that?"

"Han, I'm not making accusations – this is all such a dangerous game, and we all have to check our weaker thoughts – "

"She's not weak," Han snapped.

"That's not – you're simplifying my point."

Han shrugged roughly. He pushed away from the sofa.

"You don't need to say stuff like that right now," he muttered.

Bail stood, holding his hands up in a placating manner – and he understood that; he understood that he had come off as harsh, but Leia was the one who was adamant that she not let the Media get to her – and Bail knew this was all starting to get to her, and he wanted to keep her grounded.

"I'm reminding her of who I raised her to be," he said – and he saw Han's eyes narrow caustically, as if it was the most self-righteous thing he'd ever heard.

Han waved his hand vaguely, turning away his back for a moment, and then he rounded on Bail, shaking his head – he glanced between him and Rouge, and his eyes took on one of those unpredictable glints that were so unique to him, and so worrisome.

"Half the time, she thinks she inherited a Vader switch, Bail," Han said curtly, shaking his head. "Kriff, you know how long I'll have to go down on her to make her forget you said that?"

He said it so sternly, and without so much as a whisper of a smirk, that Bail looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending – that is, until Rouge turned around, grabbed Han's wrist, and pinched him, her eyes narrowing sharply.

Han yanked his hand back smoothly and started to grin, and Bail gave him a tight grimace, a resigned look on his face.

"You've had your fun, Han," Bail snapped coolly. "I do not think Leia would appreciate that performance."

"Oh, yeah, she would."

"I was referring to what you just said to me," Bail retorted, his face reddening, though his expression stayed stony.

Han shrugged harshly.

"Let her get a little angry, Viceroy," Han said flippantly.

Bail looked at him a long time.

"She doesn't want that driving her," he said.

Han made a face like he knew that, like he'd been told a thousand times – but he shook his head all the same.

"She's stir crazy," he said tightly, and then turned on his heel with a muttered swear – he disappeared after her, and Bail folded his arms, looking down tiredly at his sister.

Rouge put her hand over her mouth lightly, and then closed her eyes.

"He's right, Bail," she said. "We know Leia. She needs her work."

Bail nodded in wordless agreement – she needed her work back; she needed to dig back into the trenches, get back to her statements and her maneuvering and taking on the press – the mandatory silence and absence was killing her for the moment – and Bail worried; he worried for how it affected all of them, and he worried for what it did to her emotional balance, because as sad as it made him to think she felt out of place in a home with him – intuitively, he knew that being here was not good for her.

* * *

Luke had particular affinity for Leia's offices at the Alderaanian Embassy complex. Her workspace as a whole – and the Embassy complex itself – was so purely different from the rest of Coruscant. Its original designers had made sure of that – had endeavored to preserve a small piece of their gorgeous planet in the midst of the steel-and-smog murkiness of a city-planet. Even as the city encroached around them, the Embassy grounds sprawled out and were surrounded by white walls splashed with red and purple ivy, gardens and gazebos, art halls and chapels – things here had fallen into disarray, during the Empire, and after Alderaan's emissaries had been expelled and the planet destroyed – but since the return of the Republic, and the Organas, the Embassy was restored to all most all of its former glory.

Those things that could not be replaced – ransacked valuables, broken heirlooms, and extinct flora and fauna – were conspicuously absent, as a reminder, but the empty spaces were filled with new people, learning new things, and keeping the culture alive.

Luke loved it – he loved that this place thrived so, and that Leia had small scraps of home here, and somehow, he felt at home here – perhaps because Leia was his family, and Tatooine was no one's true home – and so he felt adopted into fallen Alderaan as much as he felt adopted by the Force.

He hadn't seen Leia in a few days – he had been preoccupied with Mara, and intricately focused on his military duties, to keep himself sane – and so he sought her out here to check on her, today, particularly, in light of a recent news story that had broken –

A positive one, and that was – somewhat rare, lately.

"Luke!"

She greeted him warmly, unfolding her legs from under her as she stood up from the small sofa in her office. She set aside the work she'd been reading and swept loose strands of hair back from her face, tucking them behind her ears as she came forward to hug him.

She wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders and squeezed, pulling back to study his face. Her hands slid down his arms and she held his elbows firmly. She gave him a faintly amused look.

"Is that, ah – a new perfume?"

Momentarily taken aback, Luke composed himself, and blinked placidly.

"What?" he asked casually, arching a brow at her. He tilted his head, tucking thoughts of Mara away into impenetrable corners of his mind.

"You smell like a woman," Leia clarified bluntly. She arched a sisterly eyebrow at him. "Are you seeing someone?"

Luke looked at her blankly for a spare second, locking the walls around Mara's name, her image – her presence.

"No," he said simply.

He had not expected the question – and had not realized he smelled so distinctly of Mara, and thought it did leave him with some guilt to be – less than truthful – with Leia, he was immediately wary of discussing this with her. Not only due to Mara's reticence when it came to meeting his family, but due to his lack of conviction on the topic of what he and Mara were doing at all.

Leia tilted her head curiously, her lips pursing – and Luke felt her mood dampen a bit. She clearly sensed he wasn't being entirely honest, and yet instead of pursuing it, she nodded a little, and studied him for a moment.

She – did sense something odd about his answer, but she chose not to bother him about it; Sith knew she'd asked enough of Luke lately.

"How are you?" Leia asked intently – and it was not the usual, casual greeting given by one person to another, the sort of reflexive how-are-you that asked only for a generic response, and not true introspection – no; Leia asked with sincere concern, because Luke bore this public burden as much as she did.

Luke nodded, clasping her elbows lightly. He smiled in his usual non-threatening, easy way.

"I'm alright," he promised.

She held him a moment longer, loosening her grip a little and studying him.

"It's understandable if you aren't," she said a little dryly, one of her eyebrows ticking up knowingly. "I haven't seen you in a handful of days," she murmured, and stepped back, crossing her arms uncomfortable. "Time's running together a bit – "

"You've been cooped up," Luke noted, and then shrugged. "You know how I am – I disappear a lot."

Leia sighed. She looked at him for a moment, and then stepped back, gesturing at her more relaxed work area for him to have a seat in a cushioned chair, or the sofa.

"I can't quite tell if I've slighted you, or if it's your usual hermit behavior," she confessed, resuming her seat – she didn't curl up into a little ball, as she had been – she perched on the edge, leaning forward on her knees.

Luke grinned.

"I don't know either," he said. "I never think you're slighting me, for what it's worth."

"I never mean to," Leia said heavily – though it was one thing she often berated herself about; her tendency to forget to consider Luke – Luke's perspective, Luke's feelings, what Luke wanted.

In so many respects, he was just so starkly different than her, despite their shared blood, birthdate – history.

Luke took a seat casually and leaned back, tilting his head curiously as he realized Leia's mental guard was fairly relaxed. She smiled encouragingly at him, leaving only a thin veil hovering in their connection, earnest and welcoming. He appreciated that – he truly hadn't felt as if Leia was ignoring him or shunting him to the side; he and Leia had vastly different interests, when it came to public reckoning about their bloodline: she wanted her slate clean and honest, so she could run for office without secrets, without the threat of blackmail – so she could continue her fight for justice and progress.

Luke wanted the soul of his fallen father personally vindicated; he wanted to craft a new Jedi Order with the truths of power open to the public, a teaching tool for the light – and he wanted part of the New Republic's origin narrative to be one of redemption, of the constant persistence of good despite overwhelming bad.

He didn't care for political maneuvering and so, though he struggled with the onslaught of negativity that came his way as a byproduct of Leia's statecraft, he managed it because he, too, had wanted the truth out there – and yet he felt relief when she chose to leave him out of her statements and the strategy they were using.

It left him to his meditation, to his personal discovery – to his endless conversations with Mara about what it meant to be a Jedi, what it meant to manipulate the force and – and -

What his calling was, in terms of the Force, and the future.

"Han checks on me," he said abruptly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Leia's brow furrowed a little.

"He - ?"

"Checks on me," Luke repeated, folding his hands and placing them behind his head. "I mean he checks in with me when we're both on duty, or at headquarters, but if he doesn't see me, he calls."

Leia smiled softly.

"I'm not surprised."

"Me neither," Luke said. "It's something he can do to help you out without getting in trouble," he snorted.

Leia groaned softly, shaking her head. She brushed her fingers over her lips.

"I hate that," she murmured. "I hate that I – I constantly make him feel like he's making things hard on me when he's not – he acts perfectly within reason, half the time, he's just not as refined as my family is used to but," she trailed off for a moment. "That incident was so unfair, and the Media is still crucifying him for it – he was protecting me. Protecting his home."

Luke nodded, and held up his hands, his expression serious.

"No, Leia – I agree, don't worry. I don't think Han has any resentment towards you – "

"My family, then," Leia interrupted quietly. She looked at him tiredly, her eyes dull. "Even when he gets along with them, they clash. It's merely that – some things are so ingrained, so fundamentally different, that they never see eye to eye. Different worlds."

"You're from their world," Luke said simply. "You and Han see eye to eye."

Leia tilted her head.

"Yes," she agreed, "but I've said before – there's something different in my blood," she reflected quietly – and then quickly went on, a wry smile on her face – "I don't mean that I think I'm evil, Luke," she placated. "I mean…the nature of Alderaanians…is so deeply true to our culture that it's very nearly inherited. It's part of my upbringing but not of my core," she said slowly. "And the war – well, the war," she said flatly. "The war added elements to me that put me at odds with the way I used to be."

Luke shrugged.

"Not for the worse," he offered.

Leia smiled wryly.

"I'm inclined to agree," she confided. "There are a lot of invaluable things I've learned that I would never want to lose."

Luke shifted, leaning forward intently.

"What's one thing you'd want back, if you could have it?" he asked. "I don't mean material – I know the answer to that," he said. "One aspect of – you, emotionally, that the war changed."

Leia considered him as if she wasn't sure she was comfortable answering, and then he sensed her relax a little, and search herself for an accurate answer – she hesitated, pursed her lips, and breathed out slowly.

"I wish I had no triggers," she said quietly. "It's not so much that I wish I had never been hurt," she explained, brow knitting – "I do, but – life hurts everyone, one way or another – I wish the effects didn't bleed into everything," she told him.

She swallowed, and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

"I guess to put it simply, I wish Han could come up behind me and hug me without it sending a jolt of panic through me."

She fell quiet again, and then lifted her head, her eyes widening.

"Actually," she began, correcting herself. "If – anything," she paused, her voice softening hoarsely, "you ask what I want back?" She swallowed hard. "I want to be comfortable around my family again," she said. "Wholly comfortable."

"You aren't?" Luke asked gently.

"I am," Leia said mildly, "but it isn't the way it was. I," she paused. "I used to come home from the Senate, return to the palace, and shed the skin we wear in public," she bit her lip, and shrugged. "Now I feel like I keep it on."

Luke smiled a little sadly – he sensed, in reading the general emotions around her words, what she was unable – or unwilling – to articulate. Her relationship with her father and her aunt was repaired, it was nowhere near as contentious and fractured as it had been when they first were rescued, but it would never return to its pre-War status.

"Father knows I have a traumatic stress disorder," she said quietly, "this isn't to say it offends him. It just is not something that I revealed to him – by choice," she explained, "and that speaks volumes."

Luke nodded – he understood; Bail had once been Leia's great hero, her truest confidant in politics, and in her personal life – different than Winter, but her beloved and trusted Father, all the same.

Leia cleared her throat, and arched her brows.

"Did you come see me for some family therapy?" she asked, her tone lightening. She gave him a faux suspicious look. "Did Han put you up to this?"

Luke laughed, leaning back and slouching a little, shaking his head rapidly.

"No, I – I haven't seen Han today, actually," he snorted. "Why would he?" he retorted. "Does Han think you need it?"

Leia sighed good-naturedly, her expression flickering a little. She said nothing, shrugged – and what Luke gained from her thoughts was not animosity towards Han, or a sense of tension between them, but that Leia was worried about him, and she knew he was worried about her, and they were kept in close quarters at the Embassy with her family –

"What's it like, Han living with Bail?" Luke quipped.

"Hmmm," Leia sighed, tapping her chin. "He delights in harassing Father within an inch of his sanity."

"I'm sure it's amusing."

"To an extent," agreed Leia dryly. She sighed. "Han wants to go to Corellia. He likes that we're here," she gestured vaguely around the Embassy office, implying the rest of the complex as well, "because he's on sharp alert about those death threats and possible security compromises but," she shook her head. "He hates all of this attention."

"Doesn't help that it's negative," Luke said flatly. "I know how Han is when people denigrate you."

Leia nodded. Her brow furrowed.

"He – he's kept his temper under fine control," she murmured. "Ever since," she trailed off –

Luke nodded – since he had that painfully public, bloody fight with a bounty hunter, the one the holo often re-played clips of, since nothing truly corrupt was coming out of the investigation into Leia.

When they came up short on what to hit her with, they hit Han, and it cut her deeply.

Luke leaned forward.

"Well, other than the obvious, I came to see you because of the pamphlet," he said, his eyes lighting up earnestly.

His sister's eyes narrowed a little, and she gave him a vaguely worried look.

"Pamphlet?" she repeated slowly, the word drawn out and deliberate.

Luke nodded, and then he cocked his head, pausing.

"You don't – the pamphlet," he said, reaching into his robes. "The one in support of you – pushing back against half the, ah," Luke fumbled for a way to put it, and his face darkened for a moment, "slander," he decided, "that's out there."

Leia sat up a little straighter, her expression composed, and Luke blinked.

"I was sure you'd – you don't know?"

She compressed her lips, and then cleared her throat.

"I have – been – quarantined, in a way," she said delicately, "from Media that is not essential to my ongoing work," she explained.

Her eyes narrowed, and she bowed her head for a moment, staring at her hands. Her knuckles turned white.

"You mentioned I've been cooped up," she said in a low voice. "I have," she emphasized. "I was – drawn in to a lot of the gossip and fodder. It was distracting me, and I," she paused, shaking her head – thinking of her father's words –

_That sounds totalitarian, Leia._

Luke caught his breath, his eyes wide.

"Bail called you totalitarian?" he asked, plucking the words from her mind.

Leia's expression was pinched, then hollow. She shrugged, and then she nodded.

"There is quite a lot of heinous commentary out there," she said quietly. "It," she paused for a long time, "stings," she said, finishing with a hollow tone.

Luke noticed immediately that she was reluctant to admit that, and he made note of it, leaning forward –

"Leia, just because you prepared for there to be backlash doesn't mean it can't hurt you – " he started.

She waved her hand, cleared her throat, and straightened up.

"As it were," she began, elegantly redirecting him, "while inquiry into my work goes on, I've devoted my time exclusively to Alderaanian issues, and Father liaises with Tavska and my office to compose reports of what I need," she said. "It excludes the petty and the vitriolic."

Luke nodded, his face brightening again.

"That's the thing," he said earnestly, pulling the pamphlet out of his pocket – it had appeared recently, marketed in holo form, hard copy form, in every form imaginable, and it had been brought to his attention by Mara, of all people –

She'd come home from exploring some old dungeon haunt of hers near the Imperial Palace, and thrust it to him over breakfast –

_Someone still loves your sister,_  she'd said casually, and rolled her eyes when he softly counseled her –  _Mara,_ I  _love my sister._

"Here," Luke said, pushing it forward.

Leia made no movement, and he held it out seriously.

"You know I'd never bring something to you if it was going to hurt you," he assured her.

Leia nodded –  _I trust you._

She leaned forward and took it – the pamphlet was printed on the finest silk paper, lacquered with the hardening gloss that made it like an old-fashioned book, but flashy and eye-catching. She held it flat in her palms, her eyes focused on the title – and Luke watched as she gingerly reached up to run her fingers over the lettering – glittery letters catching the lights in her office in iridescent sparks.

She studied it, and Luke heard her read the words aloud in her head, her tone soft and wary, her inner voice strangely ethereal, and mildly accented with Alderaanian, even though she spoke without that aristocratic lilt –

_Leia Organa Should Have Killed Me._

As she looked up, the title sinking in, Luke felt her tumble through a myriad of emotions – uncertainty, confusion, irritation, hope, fear – and when she met his eyes, he smiled another encouraging smile.

"Who wrote this?" she asked, wary and hoarse.

Luke sat forward, elbows on his knees –

"It was disseminated with no author," he explained hastily. "I have – an idea," he said wryly. He nodded, spreading his palms out. "Read it."

Leia looked down at it, and then up at him, staring coolly –

"Leia, it's positive," he said. "I know I needed it," he swore. "I have no doubt that your report today will include this," he reached out and tapped it. "Read it. Trust me."

"I trust you," Leia assured him again.

Her eyes fell back down, her hands skated over the lettering again – and with a firm press of her lips together, she delicately opened to the first page and Luke watched her as she began to take in the words, starting at the beginning –

… _in the weeks following the revelation that Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker are the children of Darth Vader, too many bloodthirsty Holo reporters, and too many power-hungry politicians, have attempted to label the Princess of Alderaan with the sins of a man she never knew…suggesting she has inherited an evil nature…_

Luke sat back to watch Leia critically, able to follow along as she read aloud in her head, and he saw the moment that she reached a critical part – no author, indeed, but the paragraph that easily identified the producer of this document to her, as it had to Luke, as well –

… _let it be known that, in the eyes of any sane person, I deserved death at the hands of this woman; a weaker person would have taken vengeance without thought, ignored the predicaments of many for the savage pleasure of killing one out of revenge – several years ago, in an act of desperation, I took from Princess Leia the one thing left in the galaxy that she loved, and I handed her to her greatest enemies – and when her chance came to execute me, at her own hand, and the hands of her companion Chewbacca – she should have – and yet, she did not._

Leia swallowed hard, and looked up, her eyes flickering – and looked back down quickly, soaking in the next few sentences –

_Her mercy was not entirely selfless at the time, but once the dust had settled – Princess Leia again had a chance to turn me over to the legal authorities of her rebellion, and instead saw past the surface, and into the complexities of what I had done – though I had hurt her in a deeply personal way, she recognized that I had saved my people – she granted me mercy then, and going forward; she granted me a clean slate when I followed through on my word to make my mistakes right – this is a woman who, had she truly inherited the ravaging, violent nature of a man like Darth Vader, should have snapped my neck without second thought, should have let her Rebellion burn for the sake of personal gratification –_

_And yet she did not._

_Leia Organa should have killed me._

_And yet she did not._

_I put it to your conscience to decide what kind of woman she is, to bear the slander she is given with all the grace you in the Media have refused her._

Leia looked up again, blinking slowly.

"Lando," she murmured. "Lando?" her voice went up only a little, disbelief, or gratitude, something she hadn't quite identified, yet – "Lando wrote this," she said, closing it, her fingers curling protectively around the edges.

Luke beamed.

"I suspected," he agreed. "I – well, I wasn't on Bespin for most of that, but I knew the story," he said.

He paused.

"And I remember you speaking for him when Rieekan and Madine wanted his blood, for betraying you," Luke said softly. "I know you did it because you needed him to find Han, but Lando seemed to think it was more."

Leia looked at Luke intently for a long time.

"It was about Han," she allowed. "It – was also  _more_ ," she explained.

She took a deep breath.

"Lando did what I did not," she said. "He saved the lives and the families and the futures of every person under his care on Bespin, by handing over one girl and one boy to the Empire," she whispered. "I watched Alderaan burn to protect the Rebellion."

"Leia," Luke said softly. "Look where we are now."

"I know," she whispered. "I am not saying what I did was wrong. Alderaan would have burned in time, just as Bespin would have seen the wrath of the Empire eventually. Lando only bought them time," she agreed heavily, "but I understood."

She nodded, almost to herself.

"Even in the depths of my sorrow over losing Han, I understood."

She looked down, her eyes on the written words.

"Lando," she murmured again.

"For what it's worth, I think he dictated it – maybe to Tendra," Luke said. "Lando never seemed particularly verbose."

"On the contrary," Leia retorted with a short laugh, "Lando's speech can often be about as flashy as his wardrobe," she noted, thinking a little fondly of his grandiose flirtations with her, the first time they met.

She turned the pamphlet in towards her chest, tucking it into her shoulder.

"I wonder," she began slowly.

"—why he wrote it anonymously?" Luke supplied, plucking the thought from her head – Leia nodded, and he frowned with interest. "I wondered that, too," he agreed. "Lando has…very little to lose, by speaking up for you. Business, I guess."

"Business," Leia said quietly. She pursed her lips, deep in thought. "He's smart," she murmured.

"That's some powerful writing," Luke said, shifting in his seat. "It leverages a heavy argument against any suggesting that you – that I," Luke trailed off, his eyes taking on a dull sadness for a moment, "that we have any evil in common with Vader."

Leia looked up at him and nodded.

"I have no doubt it will take hold within the hearts of people who already support us still, and the rest – the usual suspects – will find a way to claim the Organas manufactured it," she said. She took a deep breath. "It's those in the middle…malleable minds…that count."

She stopped, and then shook her head.

"No – I don't mean malleable; I mean people with hesitance to declare sides, or believe the hurricane of conspiracy theories and rumors – the complex decision makers."

"Shouldn't all politicians be complex decision makers?" Luke ventured with a snort.

Leia laughed.

"Ideally."

Luke rubbed his hands over his face and leaned forward, reaching out and holding his palms up.

"Listen, Leia – I know things are bad right now – "

"Luke," she started tiredly. "I ought to be the one giving you a pep talk."

He shook his head gently.

"The hate was a shock at first, but I understand it," he said. "Like you understand Lando. It's a painful reminder, always, that Anakin became Vader, and to the vast majority of those living today, he was only Vader – dark, menacing, and bloodthirsty," he explained. "It doesn't – it's okay," he said fairly, and honestly, trying to illustrate the way he was seeing it, and feeling it. "My career isn't balancing on a precipice," he said frankly. "I'm just a heroic figure facing a fall from grace – it happens to all legends," he joked wryly, "you're grappling with a possible loss of everything you've worked for, and I  _know_  things are bad."

He compressed his lips earnestly, pressed his palms together, and leaned forward seriously.

"If you're losing faith, I wanted to bring you that to remind you that it isn't all hatred and distrust," he said softly. "It's easy to brush it off because Lando would have been on your side anyway but – think of the people who he will convince."

Leia's eyes were soft, thoughtful – grateful. She smiled at him, and Luke was happy to see it.

"You know how I describe it, Luke?" she asked. "This whole experience – so far, going forward," she explained hoarsely. "It's a series of ups and downs – spiteful, malicious days, followed by days," she touched the pamphlet to her lips lightly, "with things like this."

She paused, catching her breath.

"It  _is_  what I prepared for," she said. Her expression faltered, eyes flickering between resigned, and hopeful: "I always think of it as if – in telling the galaxy, I've held up a mirror to let me see what my own reaction to this was like – as if on a larger scale, I can view the progression to acceptance."

Leia bit her lip.

"I fought for a free Republic and I have to believe that … as the shock runs its course, the galaxy will remember that," she said softly, "they'll settle into the same acceptance I had to."

Luke's eyes moved curiously, his attention drawn sharply to her words.

"And have you?" he asked, absorbed in the conversation. "Accepted - Vader, who we are to him?"

His sister was quiet. After a long silence, she gave a small nod.

"There are still stumbling blocks," she murmured. "Things I…struggle with." She paused, and laughed dryly. "I can't tell if the aftermath of the revelation is fortifying my peace, or deconstructing it."

Luke bowed his head.

"I know what you mean," he said, his voice low. He looked up. "I thought I had forgiven Father," he trailed off for a moment. "No, I have forgiven him – and yet, every day, I face the pain he caused to so many, and the betrayal and rage in their eyes when they look at me."

He cleared his throat.

"But we make our own choices," he said, reaching out to gesture at the pamphlet he'd given her. "We aren't beholden to a concept as useless and arbitrary as bad blood."

Leia tilted her head, and for a quiet moment, Luke looked back at her, unsure what she was thinking – he read conflict in her eyes, wariness in the tight muscles around her mouth and temple – she tilted her head, and he heard her thoughts start to form  _– Vader's anger corrupted him, and I am so angry –_

Luke softened his expression.

"Do you want to meditate?" he asked, indirectly addressing her disjointed thought. "You and I – sift through some of the – "

"No," Leia interrupted, her tone a little clipped. "I am not particularly interested in that – I need my wits about me, and often, the meditation – debilitates me."

Luke bit back the comment that not meditating tended to do the same thing, if she let things go unaddressed for too long – but she had Han; Han was more than capable of being a rock for Leia if she needed him to be – and Luke had not come here to push her, or upset her, but to cheer her, and share in the relief that came with any positive press.

He cleared his throat.

"The verdict on your inquiry is set to come out in the next few days, right?" he asked.

Leia lifted a hand to her lips and held it there for a moment, and then pushed her hair back. She gave Luke a tight, but genuine smile, and lifted her shoulders.

"Let's not talk about that," she said neatly. "Luke, let's – talk about family, or the Rogue Squadron," she went on, her tone light, but her demeanor insistent. "Or why you smell like a woman."

"I don't," Luke groused, his stomach tensing a little – he was again struck with a sense of guilt, but at the moment Mara was – Mara was his safe place, and she was a force to be reckoned with all her own, and not only did he need to figure out his dynamic with her, Leia and Han and everyone around them did not need a stranger in the mix complicating things.

Leia shrugged a bit, and gave him a knowing look.

"If today is a day in which things have fluctuated up," she said. "I want to keep it that way."

Luke nodded – and so he dropped the subject of the Supreme Court inquiry into her allegedly corrupt ambassadorship, and he wracked his brains for an asinine story to tell about one of Wedge's latest escapades, or Jansen's latest pranks – he passed time with her, in that safe Alderaanian office, discussing nothing, for the time being, while everything raged in the world outside.

* * *

There was one bright spot that mellowed out the increasingly troubling, guilt-ridden anxiety that Leia felt while she temporarily lived in her family residence, and that bright spot was Winter – her suite in the Embassy compound was one flight of stairs up, and two doors to the right; her proximity was reminiscent of Leia's childhood on Alderaan, though in Aldera Winter had slept in quarters usually reserved for a second or third child of the ruling family – directly adjacent to Leia's crown quarters.

In comparison to the Palace of Antibes, the Embassy Residence was modest – smaller, though still extravagant in the delicate and classic manner native to Alderaanian structures – having Winter mere footsteps away was, inexplicably, the only thing that made Leia feel comfortable and at ease here – when she started to seethe with discomfort at the constriction she felt sharing a home with her Father, she turned to Winter's part of the residence for solace, and quietly nursed her complex feelings within the confines of their friendship.

Having Winter so near alleviated, to an extent, Leia's careful moderation of herself around her father and Rouge – it was, perhaps, because Winter had always been a confidante separate from Leia's parents; she had been a sister, but the bond between sisters and friends was vastly different between an adolescent woman and her parents, and even on Alderaan, Leia and Winter had shared things with each other that they would have kept from Bail and Breha – not for lack of trust, but simply because there were things  _parents_  were never privy to, regarding their maturing children.

She and Han were – somewhat ill at ease, considering the close quarters and the public scrutiny. They weren't at odds with each other, but despite his devil-may-care attitude, Leia knew Han often felt as wary as she did, when it came to having Rouge and Bail so close – neither of them wanted to broadcast the finer details of their relationship's idiosyncrasies, so even behind closed doors, they weren't entirely themselves – Winter bridged the gap, in a way; Winter was there to give Leia the space to be herself, as she had back on Alderaan, and in a new way – she was there to make up for the time she and Leia had lost in the intervening years, always, always willing to catch up on conversations they should have had while Leia fought a war, and Winter fought for her life in the wilderness of space.

Entering Winter's suite through the arched doorway just to the side of the third level, spiral staircase landing, Leia dropped her bag on the floor and went directly to the petite, elegantly decorated room that faced the courtyard of the Embassy. She drew open the iridescent, silk curtains that shielded the floor-to-ceiling windows, and essentially turned the sitting room into a sunroom while Winter left her bag to lay haphazardly with Leia's, and ducked into the kitchenette nook for something to drink.

Leia turned, closing her eyes lazily as the sun streamed through the window and warmed her back, and smiled a bit, listening to Winter clink glasses around –the suite Winter called home was one that had historically been designated for the Ambassador, which was why it was equipped with such a thing at all – the Royal suites had no such apparatuses, as the Organas did not cook for themselves.

To Leia's knowledge, Winter didn't really cook, either, but she had chosen this suite – despite originally being offered the rooms that were reserved for the princess – due to its relative distance from Bail and Rouge's sprawling apartments.

"I have anti-oxidant juices," Winter offered. "I also have wine," she added wickedly, almost in a sly murmur.

Leia opened her eyes a little, glaring at Winter through her lashes. Winter grinned, raising her eyes up good-naturedly – she held up a bottle of fresh-pressed juice, and Leia nodded – there was time for wine later; at the moment, she was more concerned about hydrating.

She also – preferred to drink less when she was intensely edgy or stressed, and though today's activities had alleviated many of those feelings, her underlying state since the milestone press conference weeks ago was a firm, unshakeable feeling of being trapped, cornered, and on trial.

Quite  _literally_  on trial, in some respects.

"Here," Winter said, offering Leia a cool glass and then retreating to rummage though her bag. "I'm going to finish my protein shake."

"The  _warm_  one?" Leia asked, collapsing in a very undignified manner on the sofa, and settling back into the plush upholstery.

She made a face, and Winter shrugged, shaking the bottle as she withdrew it, and tucking her small holopad under her arm as well.

"Why waste it?" she asked.

Leia sighed good-naturedly.

"So Alderaanian of you," she complimented.

"You'd throw it out?" Winter retorted.

"A room temperature protein shake? Yes."

"Corellian," Winter snarked.

Leia shrugged and spread her arms out, tilting her head back. Winter grinned and threw herself down on the sofa near Leia, powering up her holopad. Flushed, her head still swimming with endorphins from their workout, Leia grinned and brought the juice back to her lips, watching Winter skim through reports they had missed while at one of Coruscant's most elite health resorts.

'Health resorts' – because the rich did not go to establishments as low-class as  _gyms_.

Inhaling the sweet scent of kavasa juice as she watched Winter, Leia narrowed her eyes critically to see if she could gauge her friend's facial expression. Despite the upswing in her mood since Luke had made her aware of the pamphlet, Leia had still refrained from letting herself get absorbed in the Media – she still filtered it through others, focusing on the strictly political, rather than the gossip – handling Alderaanian things exclusively while the inquiry droned on – rather, as it began to rush towards a close.

"Mmmm," murmured Winter. She nodded. "Hmm – mmhmm," she went on, ticking up an eyebrow.

"Holographs?" Leia asked smoothly.

Winter nodded. She turned her holopad around, and presented to Leia and image of both of them, accompanied by Chewbacca – captured just as they left the health resort, rucksack bags held tightly, hair braided similarly – the holo was clear, luminescent, and unmistakable.

Leia studied in neutrally.

"My, you look incredible," she said, deadpan.

Winter smirked, and turned the holopad to glance again – and then held it back out to Leia.

"Caption," she said, pursing her lips, a disdainful look on her face.

Leia read it –  _Princess Leia, accompanied by House Organa foster-daughter Winter Retrac, luxuriates at a spa –_ she expected the following paragraph accused her of gross lack of attention to her duties, and a careless, evil attitude about the state of her corruption inquiry.

She nodded – "Not altogether unexpected," she noted tightly – she had deliberately allowed herself to be photographed leaving the resort, however, and the holo did not jolt her.

Winter made an unintelligible little noise, and then turned the device back to herself, searching related images – and Leia pondered the first one she'd found –

Captured as she and Winter were leaving the complex for the day, after several hours of combat fighting instruction, which Leia had introduced Winter to _much_  to Rouge and Bail's chagrin – and a one-hour cool down course of yoga – both she and Winter had composed, unsmiling expressions on their faces, private and stoic – Winter's hair, separated into five delicate braids that somehow twisted and curled into one thick one, tumbled over her shoulder as she looked at Leia, and Leia appeared to be staring directly into the holo-lens, her expression determined –

These past few days – weeks – during her corruption inquiry had been so suffocating; barred from work as she was, she slept fitfully, found it hard to focus on the more personal, slow-paced Alderaanian Council, and was nearly bored to tears in the confines of the protected Embassy – she and Winter had set out for time at the gym with a specific goal in mind: ease the tension that was building as tomorrow encroached, because tomorrow –

"Leia," Winter murmured, turning the holopad back to her again. She hesitated, and then said nothing else, and Leia tilted her head, blinking a few times – Winter had found another image, this one – Winter still faced forward, but Leia had her back turned, looking up to speak with Chewbacca –

Because neither she, nor Winter, had donned their simple shift tunics before leaving the resort for the trip back to the Embassy, both were still attired in their less restrictive exercise clothing – Winter in a demure white nylon skirt and sleek, sleeveless leotard that hugged her neck, and Leia in – tight, form-fitting leggings, soft leather boots, and an uncharacteristically revealing top; a lycra-and-cotton creation that pinned her breasts attractively, hugged her shoulders with thin straps, bared her abdomen and lower back –

In this version of the photo, her back was exposed; the holo presented a clear image of the gruesome bruise that bloomed over her lower spine, creating a shocking contrast from the light, cool white fabric of her work out clothes.

Winter looked apprehensive.

"Why did you wear that?" she asked, as if she had just realized that obviously something so skimpy would expose her old, scarred injury – she hadn't thought twice about it in their classes, the combat and the yoga – both were extremely elite, with female instructors Leia had known during the war.

Leia looked at Winter honestly.

"I wanted it seen," she said quietly. She pursed her lips, letting that sink in. "The same way I wanted it seen at the gala."

She watched as Winter turned the photo back to look, no doubt thinking of Leia's backless white dress from that gala – and she swallowed hard. Leia knew she had taken a risk in exposing that – the headline could easily have read –  _Princess Leia Bares All While Her Career Hangs in Balance –_ but it did not; some of the Media, some of her supporters at least, had come through as she anticipated, and the caption on that second photo was –

_Scars on Princess Leia's Back Glaring Reminder of Imperial Brutality._

Winter bit her lip, clicked her tongue softly.

"It's bold," she said, looking up, holding the holopad to her chest for a moment. "Necessary," she murmured.

"I wish it wasn't," Leia said, with a hint of bitterness –  _why_  she had to so viscerally remind the galaxy that she had been personally brutalized by the Empire was beyond her, but when there were so many voices out there accusing her of colluding with the Dark Side throughout her entire career - she found it a political essential.

Winter sighed, and looked back at the photo.

"I admire your bravery," she said, and before Leia could reject the compliment, she cleared her throat and went on loudly: "Mainly for blatantly letting yourself be photographed in that – Pasha's already seen it," she said, "and Han's going to lose his mind."

Leia laughed.

"Han? Han, the man who, when he heard about those slightly blurry honeymoon photos, asked if he could have copies to paste to the ceiling of the  _Falcon_? Han's fine. Now,  _Father_  – what do you mean, 'Pasha already knows'?" she quoted, arching a brow narrowly.

Winter grinned.

"Ah, well, as I was looking at the headline, I received a message from Evaan," she drawled. "It asks me if I have seen the photos," she said, "and," she turned the holopad for a final time so Leia could see an illuminated message – "It appears Pasha has made the irritated comment to Evaan that  _'Leia has taken to walking around naked as some sort of coping mechanism.'_ "

Winter's eyes glittered, amused. Still dressed in the outfit, Leia glanced down, and gestured at her attire lazily.

"Naked?" she quoted, arching a brow in amusement. "He considers this naked?"

Winter nodded solemnly, pulling the device back and tucking her small holopad away between her hip and the cushions. She shook her protein bottle again, tilting it back and forth blithely.

"I would argue that Pasha considers anything that shows bare skin to be absolutely equivalent to nudity," Winter said logically. "The more bare skin, the easier it is to get it off and have sex, you know," she mocked sternly, shaking her protein at Leia as if it were some sort of punishing instrument.

Leia tilted her head, resting her chin on her palm, and taking a sip of her juice.

"I've had sex while wearing more than this," she retorted – Winter laughed, nodding wryly in agreement.

"What's the most material you've had sex in?" she asked, grinning wickedly. "Evening gown?"

Leia nodded a little.

"In a manner of speaking," she murmured. "My wedding dress," she answered. She flicked her hand casually. " _Several_  evening gowns."

"Ah, really, the wedding dress?" Winter asked. She gave her a mischievous look. "Before or after the wedding?"

Leia laughed.

"After," she allowed. She paused, biting the edge of her cup.

Winter narrowed her eyes, arching a brow.

"When?" she demanded. "At the reception? I don't recall you slipping away."

Leia lifted one shoulder demurely, and then smiled a little.

"After I took his name," she said. She gave a twitch of her nose. "I took his name, he took Mrs. Solo."

Winter shrieked.

"That is so  _saccharine,"_  she accused, squealing. "You're like a living, breathing, sappy romance novel."

Leia nodded solemnly.

"It is sincerely revolting," she agreed.

Winter composed herself sternly, and pursed her lips.

"I hope that exquisite gown did not sustain harm."

"No tears, no stains."

"Executed like a true Princess – no evidence of the deed."

Leia winked, and pointed a finger at Winter knowingly; Winter grinned, uncapping her shake and cheerfully drinking half of it, while Leia narrowed her eyes with a disturbed look. Winter shrugged at her easily – warm protein shakes and possible ripped wedding gowns were the least of their worries.

The two women sat in silence for a moment – comfortable silence, the kind of silence that was filled by years of companionship and trust – and so it felt right when Winter finally cleared her throat as Leia was setting aside her now empty glass, and directed the conversation to the more serious.

"So," she began frankly, but gently, "Your verdict is tomorrow."

Leia nodded. She rested her elbow on the back of the sofa, and turned towards Winter, cupping her cheek in her palm.

"So," she paralleled. "It is."

Winter narrowed her blue-grey eyes thoughtfully.

"Have you heard any whispers about what it will be?" she murmured.

Leia compressed her lips, thinking about the assessments she'd heard – if there was one thing the supreme courts were good at, it was keeping their lips sealed about closed proceedings.

"I've heard that opposition research went out four separate times to re-examine possible corruption elements in my work," she said tightly. "I am assuming they found nothing, as there is nothing there."

"What do you think is the likelihood of trumped up charges?" Winter asked.

"Minimal," Leia answered simply. She sighed quietly, pursing her lips with a sort of grim relief: "Once all of the Media chaos is sorted through and shoveled aside, there's less political blood thirst than there seems to be," she noted logically. "Primarily because the former Imperial-elite planets cannot seem to decide if they still hate me because I am the rebel who helped destroyed them, or if they're better off biding their time and seeing if my own side alienates me enough to turn me in their favor."

Winter snorted derisively, turning her nose up.

"I don't even have a response for that," she said tightly.

Leia arched a brow.

"They're deluding themselves, of course," she said. "Mon Mothma hasn't spoken against me, which keeps many neutral states calm – and Lando's pamphlet helped," Leia smiled a little wryly, "though now there are more than a dozen information requests for Rebel mission files on Bespin, and there never was one."

"Mon Mothma hasn't spoken for you, either," Winter noted quietly.

"Yes, well," Leia said – somewhat lamely, and without malice – she had yet to dissect her feelings on Mon Mothma's part in all of this.

She had brought her old mentor into the fold long before she announced her bloodline publicly, but she and Mon had never quite constructed a plan on what the Chief of State's reaction would be – Leia knew she needed the beloved leader's support, but she also knew Mon Mothma was in a precarious position – she had been elected, not appointed; she had votes to cultivate, and she had impartiality to consider.

Winter reached up to her shoulder and unwrapped the cloth knot from the end of her braid, beginning to work through untwisting the intricate design in her hair.

"The senate breaks for a rest session next week, if I remember correctly," she said slowly.

Leia nodded.

Winter paused, her fingers twisted in her hair.

"You arranged that on purpose as well, did you not?" she asked mildly. "Acquiescing to an inquiry – without being ordered to – with the right amount of time left to ensure it would likely end around the time the Senate breaks?"

Leia said nothing, and Winter arched a brow –

"And gave a public reminder of your treatment at the hands of the Empire – Vader himself – the day before you are required to be in court to hear the results."

Leia said nothing again, but parted her lips slightly, her expression serene, and alert. Winter leaned forward, abandoning her hair for a moment.

"Pasha is politically savvy, Leia," Winter noted quietly, "but you are  _brutal_."

Still, Leia's silence continued, and Winter gave a soft whistle.

"I do not mean brutal in the sense that you're violent – "

"I know," Leia finally spoke. "I know what you mean."

Winter shook her head, awestruck.

"It's incredible," she complimented.

Leia gave a small smile – she had orchestrated things exactly as Winter suggested, and it was not something she considered deceptive, or manipulative – but strategic, a well-played game, as all politics were. The verdict would come down – and whether it was that she had done nothing questionable, or that she was corrupt to the core – immediately after the Senate would break, and there would be time to settle, analyze, and regroup.

She had stalled her work while the inquiry went on, and with it over, and a hard point to start from, and a Senate break to take advantage of – they could reenergize.

These past few weeks had been significantly exhausting, in the ways she had predicted – and so many more. She had never factored in security breaches so threatening she would move in with her father –

"You know what makes me feel awful?" Leia murmured, looking down at her lap. She avoided Winter's eyes as she went on – "That I am so bored to have only the Alderaanian issues to manage," she confessed softly.

Winter sighed quietly, trying to catch Leia's eye – Leia was aware of the action, but she tilted her head, still not looking at Winter.

"Well, you don't have to say that publicly," Winter said frankly. "Leia, you were never satisfied with just Alderaan. If you were, you'd have stayed in Aldera," she reminded her. "And you – lived without Alderaan and without just Alderaan for years, in ways Pasha and I haven't," she pointed out. "You coped and then you had to readjust all your coping."

Leia brushed her hair back. She nodded, and Winter sat back, combing her fingers through her hair – she finished loosening her braid, and then began twisting her hair around her hand.

"The planning for the opening of the Haven is coming along well," Leia said half-heartedly. She started to shrug, and then tilted her head back. "Winter," she sighed tiredly. She shook her head. She groaned. "I want all of this to – blow over, so I can move on."

Winter smiled, well aware of the intensity of chaos that had surrounded all of them since the announcement. She fidgeted, drawing her knees up under her, and cleared her throat, deciding a change of subject might be nice – nice, or detrimental; she would test the waters.

"Hey," she said softly. "I…don't know if this is going to distract you in a good way, or make you feel bad," she paused, looking cautiously at Leia, "but I – have something to tell you, and I've been – I suppose, waiting for one of the days when everything seems to be on the  _up_  side of the constant see-saw."

Leia tilted her head, combing her fingers through her hair. She blinked a few times, focusing on Winter, and tilted her head, curious.

"What is it?" she asked, somewhat amused. She couldn't imagine Winter telling her anything that would make her feel bad – unless she had inadvertently hurt Winter's feelings…?

"It's only that I know you're dealing with a lot, and the stress is overwhelming," Winter said, "and sometimes it can be – irritating, when you're having a hard time and other people aren't."

Leia shrugged. She smiled a bit wryly, suddenly thinking of her mother – she hoped Breha had raised her better than that; she didn't think herself someone who would take bitterly to another's good fortune.

"You have good news?" she asked. She breathed out, relieved. "I'd love to hear some."

Winter pushed her white blonde hair back, and tucked her face into her arm for a moment before looking up. She licked her lips.

"It's – small news," she said calmly. "Nothing monumental – and it won't help you with the Vader things – "

"Winter, now I'm curious! Get on with it," Leia encouraged, pursing her lips expectantly.

Winter flushed.

"Tycho asked me to marry him," she confided softly.

Struck, for a moment, with surprise, Leia's eyes widened, and she merely stared at her friend – and then she sat forward quickly, reaching out to touch Winter's knee.

"And…?" she breathed, searching Winter's expression eagerly. She watched Winter swallow, her face flushing pink again – pinker, this time.

"I've, I've told him yes," Winter said earnestly. "But I want him to ask yours and Pasha's blessing, just for silly traditional purposes – "

"Mine? Why?" Leia broke in, utterly distracted from her woes and the tribulations.

Winter laughed.

"You're the Princess. Technically I'm a ward of the royal family – tradition."

"Oh, right," Leia breathed. "You…you want to marry him?"

Winter swallowed hard.

"That's the thing, Leia, I never imagined I was ready to get married, but when he asked me, it was suddenly all I wanted," she said. She marveled at the idea, usually not prone to overwhelming emotions. "He feels like home, if you…know what I mean."

Leia nodded, a bright smile illuminating her face.

"I know," she agreed softly.

She leaned forward to hug Winter, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. She held her tightly for a moment, resting her forehead on Winter's shoulder, and turning to speak softly in her ear.

"He'll have my blessing easily," she whispered. "Winter…I could never begrudge you happiness, especially happiness like this."

She pulled back, and smiled at her friend – in fact, she relished it. What better way to deal with the vitriol and discord surrounding her and her character than focus on something this wonderful? A light, sparkling feeling coursed thought Leia's blood – she was absolutely sure this was exactly how Winter had felt, when she took Leia's hands and squealed after hearing that Leia was planning to marry Han – this was a well-deserved, hard-earned moment for both of them, girlish, normal, as simple as two childhood friends experiencing another milestone together, in the midst of everything else.

Leia pulled back, squeezed Winter's shoulders, and grinned.

"So," she drawled. "Tell me how he did it," she coaxed, arching her eyebrows.

To her surprise, Winter let out a hoarse laugh.

"You won't believe – ah, well, actually," she touched her lips, composing herself, and then winced. "Leia, we were – having dinner one evening, normal dinner, and Tycho said –  _'Winty, do you want to get married?'_  – and I said – "

"'Winty?'"

"Yes, and I said – "

"He calls you  _Winty_?"

"Leia, stop interrupting."

"I can't, I need to go back to  _Winty_."

Winter glared at her, and then arched a brow.

"Don't make fun of my nickname," she ordered.  _"Don't_  make fun of my  _adorable_  nickname, Leia. You just told me your husband had to have you in a wedding dress because you took his  _name."_

Leia compressed her lips, flushing, and waved her hand, indicating Winter could go on – and so she did:

"I told him yes – and a few moments later," Winter paused to laugh, "I asked him when he wanted to get married, how soon, and when I looked up," she broke for another giggle, "he was staring at me with this white face, and wide eyes, and he said he'd just meant – did I want to talk about getting married  _someday_."

Leia covered her mouth, nose crinkling in embarrassed amusement. Winter nodded, biting her lip.

"I tried to rescind my comments, play it off, but Tycho – he was into the idea of going ahead and getting engaged," Winter trailed off, her eyes glittering – "so we are, and he is devastated he hasn't found a necklace for me."

"Oh, send him to Han," Leia said hurriedly. "Han's jeweler can find something – or craft something."

Winter nodded, her smile still wide, and shining.

"Perhaps I will," she agreed, and Leia reached out to take her hand.

"I want this for you so badly, Winter," she said.

Winter nodded, turning her hand over and squeezing Leia's.

"It might seem – arrogant of me to ask, but I – wondered if I might get married at the dedication of the Haven on Yavin," she ventured in a small voice. "There are already plans to hold traditional ceremonies – a burial ceremony, a christening," she listed.

"It isn't arrogant at all," Leia said, assuaging that fear immediately. "There is no better place for you – when you're ready to announce this to Father and the rest of the Diaspora, we'll begin plans," she said.

"You'll stand up with me?"

Leia laughed, her fingers tucked tightly in with Winter's.

"Of course," she gasped. "Who knew you would get married right on my heels – settling down after all, are you?" she teased.

"You had better watch your back," Winter fired back wryly, "I'll encroach on all your milestones."

Leia yanked her hand away, laughing, and pointed her index finger at Winter with mock sternness.

"Don't you dare have a baby before me," she ordered.

Winter laughed, covered her mouth, and leaned her head over, resting it on the back of the sofa. Her laughter faded, and she studied Leia for a moment, a smile still painted on her lips. After a moment, she tilted her head, and blinked a few times with interest.

"Hmm," she murmured. " _Are_  you going to have a baby, Leia?" she asked.

Leia shook her head, and then paused, realizing that Winter was not asking if it was going to happen imminently. She sighed, and leaned forward, resting her arms on the back of the sofa, and her chin on her arms. She shivered.

"I don't know. I can't decide," she hesitated. "You know I've told you – a little about – "

"You and Han, fighting," Winter supplied gently.

"It isn't fighting any more," Leia murmured. She opened her mouth, then closed it – started to speak again, and then hesitated – and then shook her head once more. "I don't know," she repeated calmly. "I think Han  _really_  wants one," she whispered softly. "More than he says."

Winter nodded.

"I don't want to press you about it," she said simply.

Leia smiled gratefully.

"Do you want a baby?" she asked Winter – and her friend waved her hand as if it were an easy question.

"Two or three," she answered breezily, and Leia envied her the ease of that decision – to have no poison in her blood, no powers to contend with, no mental trauma to stalk her –

Leia stopped her thoughts there, lest they begin to border on resentful. She mustered a smile, fixing it on Winter again – this was one of those positive days, one of the days full of pros, rather than cons – and those were to be cherished, as they were desperately needed: she wanted to ride the high of it into tomorrow, when she appeared at the courts –

"Winter?"

Han's gruff voice came through the door, muffled, followed by a lazy knock on the wall outside the entrance of the suite – and Winter unfolded her legs, turning her head and sitting forward on the couch.

"Han, it's open," she called.

He came in, speaking even as he saw Leia –

"Is my wife in here?"

Winter gestured obviously, as Han gave Leia a charming grin.

"Ah, yes,  _Mrs. Solo_  is here," Winter said wryly, giving him a sly wink. Leia kicked her foot out sharply, missing Winter as she stood up, and swept both her empty protein shake bottle, and Leia's glass, off of the table.

"Would you like some ale?" she asked Han innocently

"Nah – well, uh, sure," he said, correcting himself, giving her a suspicious look.

He bent to kiss Leia's forehead, and then stood up, arching a brow at her and giving her a look. She tilted her head, her attention caught, and shifted, perching on her knees and rising up to look at him, the back of the couch the only tiny barrier separating them.

"You look brooding," Leia remarked.

Han gave a low whistle, the sound he made when he had discovered something he considered to be enticing news – and cleared his throat a bit dramatically.

"I went by Luke's place to see how he's doing," Han said, lowering his voice, "and there was a  _woman_  there."

Leia looked at him blankly for a moment, waiting for the interesting part – when Han said nothing, she arched one eyebrow slowly, and reached out to brush her hands against wrinkles in Han's vest.

"Haven't we established that Luke has women around his apartment more than either of us imagined?" she asked a little wryly – and hadn't that been discovered quite a while ago, at this point?

Leia shook her head.

"Why are you telling me this like you caught him losing his virginity?" she added lightly, delighted to have a reason to laugh some more.

Han gave her a look.

"The woman was there,  _he_  wasn't," he said pointedly.

Leia tilted her head.

"So what, Han?" she sighed calmly.

Han looked at her in disbelief, cocking his own brow. He folded his arms.

"That ain't one-night stand, _fling_  sorta behavior," he snorted. "You don't leave casual partner alone in your home, give 'em free reign," he advised seriously. "Men don't. Can't speak for women, I guess, but men don't do that."

Leia looked hesitant, so Han turned his head, and raised his voice –

"Winter – you ever leave a guy you weren't serious with alone in your room?" he asked loudly, so she could hear him over the noise she was making in the nook.

Winter give a derisive laugh, immediately responding:

"Absolutely  _not._ "

Han turned a pointed look on Leia, setting his jaw –  _see?_ Leia frowned a little, looking up at him through her lashes. She felt taken aback, and shifted her weight.

"Who was it?" she asked, curiosity piqued.

"I don't know."

"What did she look like?"

Han shrugged. He held his hand near his chin.

"Tall," he said. "Redhead," he added. "Mean eyes."

Leia arched her brows, parting her lips.

"Mean eyes?" she repeated quietly.

Han only nodded.

"Luke's seein' someone," he said simply – the woman had opened the door, a look of bored amusement on her face, and her expression had become guarded and wary when she realized that Han was not whoever she had been expecting – Luke, or perhaps someone she knew.

Leia drew her hand up to her shoulder, plucking at her own sleeve. She sighed, looking at Han wordlessly – she had no working knowledge of Luke seeing anyone, though he was an extremely discreet person when it came to his love life – it was possible –

"Why wouldn't he tell me?" she murmured, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully – or even Han, at least; why would he keep it a secret? Her mood crashed abruptly – hadn't she just – "He smelled like women's perfume in my office the other day, and I asked him," she trailed off, her face falling – lips pursed.

She didn't want to accuse him of lying, but –

Han took her chin suddenly, and tilted her head up.

"Hey, I didn't mean to upset you," he said gently. "'M only investigating the mystery," he gave her a wink, and leaned down to really kiss her – he'd been so invested in his gossip when he finally found her, after badgering servants downstairs about where she was, that he'd forgotten.

Leia gave him a small, brave smile –

"Where's Chewie?" Han asked expectantly, narrowing his eyes – the Wookiee was supposed to be with Leia at all hours.

"He went to check on our apartment, after he escorted Winter and I back here," Leia said.

"That Wookiee is the smoothest flyer I've ever ridden with," Winter remarked, matter-of-fact.

Han gave an undignified snort, and turned to glare at her.

"What about me?"

Winter just laughed - said nothing, just laughed, and Han gave Leia an alarmed look, unsure how to take it. She leaned forward against the back of the couch and touched the edges of his vest.

"How was work?" she murmured.

Han grumbled.

"Pockets of Imperial violence cropping up with a vengeance in some of the more unstable sectors," he growled. "Rieekan wants to send me."

Leia grimaced, but said nothing – it was fair; Han had been home for so long – and it would look good, at this time, to have him still fighting under the banner of the Rebellion-turned-Republic –

"And I'm their figurehead," Leia joked dryly.

Her tone was mirthless, and Han pressed his hand against her neck.

"Sweetheart," he soothed gently.

Leia compressed her lips grimly, and then stood, straightening her shoulders. Han came around the sofa and sat down in Winter's spot, and Winter sashayed back over, handing him a glass bottle of Corellian ale –

"Cocktail hour," she said smoothly. "I've thoroughly de-stressed Leia all day, Han; you may take over now – have her mellow as a tipsy lothcat for the verdict tomorrow, you hear me?"

Han snorted.

"Yeah, I think there's a thing or two I can do – 'cept she's too afraid ol' Viceroy will overhear."

Winter clicked her tongue.

"Still depriving him?"

"He is not deprived," Leia maintained, turning her nose up.

Han made a whining noise, and Winter laughed. She sat down on the arm of the sofa next to Han, and Leia pushed her hair back, debating whether she should sit back down, or leave Winter and Han to chat while she went in search of plans for supper, or – or for Luke –

Han leaned forward and set his glass aside, sat back and started to say something, and then abruptly fell silent, his eyes fixed on Leia – he tilted his head, suddenly distracted, and reached out, his fingers brushing her hip – her bare hip, and his palm running over her exposed abdomen to the hem of her cropped top.

"What is this?" he asked, almost reverently – as if he had just noticed, only just now really focused on what she was wearing.

His palms slipped up her ribs more, exploring, and his eyes widened. He sat forward, captivated.

"You look," he muttered, almost to himself. "You look," he said again. "Look at you."

"Is he broken?" Winter quipped.

Leia flushed, and gave Winter a look through her lashes as if to apologize – she tended to forget that Han was so easy to visually seduce, and she never wore her exercise attire around him – not for lack of interest in it, she just usually changed or was wearing something over it.

"Leia," he almost whined. He looked up, his eyes darkening appreciatively. "You look hot."

She blushed, and ran her fingers through his hair roughly.

"Han, Winter's here," she reminded him.

Han shrugged, and bent forward to kiss Leia's abdomen. Leia giggled and squirmed away; Han caught her and pulled her close –

"Ah, there are photos, Han," Winter sang. "Brace yourself – she wore that in public."

Han arched his brows.

"Latent teenage rebellion rearin' it's," he paused, and smirked, "ah, I don't want to say ugly, considerin'," he joked. "Rearin' it's head?"

Leia collapsed onto his knee, reaching out to rest her hand on the back of his neck. Winter leaned over, nudging Han's shoulder with hers.

"Try – sharply executed, silent political statement," she said breezily, and Han gave Leia a wordless look.

She tilted her head at him, and parted her lips, straightening her shoulders.

"My back," she said quietly. "I wanted it seen."

Han contemplated that for a moment, easily identifying what was so poignant about her back. He looked at her for a long time, and then slid his arms around her middle and pulled her closer, resting his forehead against the center of her chest – the gesture lacked sexuality, and instead was full of respect, and admiration, and Leia pressed her fingertips into his neck appreciatively, looking at his bowed head, and then up at Winter.

Han lifted his head, and looked at her stubbornly, his jaw set fiercely.

"They're gonna clear you tomorrow, Sweetheart," he said. "They're gonna be sorry they ever went after you."

Leia touched his cheek, and then pushed her hand through his hair, summoning a confident smile, an armored expression of easy confidence that she'd been trained to project her whole life – and needed more than ever, now –

She nodded, savoring this day as – yet again – one of the positive among countless negative, and seized on it, knitting this feeling into her skin for now – to buoy her into the politics of tomorrow.

* * *

Leia was no stranger to the courthouse; she had seen it many a time as a young girl, as a Senator – she had presided over closed proceedings in it as a newly minted Ambassador. It was a familiar place for her – a place that symbolized justice, and fair argument, and the carefully controlled legal liberation of the galaxy. She had stood on the illustrious, ancient stone steps so many times before to give remarks, answer questions – and now, just inside the rotunda that lead out into the sprawling outdoor dais, where the press gathered – she stood, prepared to face them –

Cleared of any suspicions of corruption or wrongdoing.

Her mouth ached with the effort it took to keep her expression calm and collected – as she fought with a bright, almost vindictive, smile, she vacillated between allowing it to show, and remaining as neutral as possible. She was not quite sure what the best image would be at the moment – she had known all along that there was no corruption to her name, and so part of her felt that the best face to present was one that was unsurprised – not necessarily bored with the proceedings, but elegantly disdainful of them because the inquiry had been so insulting and so unnecessary.

Yet she was so often accused of being so emotionless and relentlessly inscrutable, another part of her thought now might be a key moment to show she was not all thick skin and efficiency; she had been worried for her career, and worried her allies would abandon her though they had to know she was still the person she'd always been, regardless of her blood, and her public revelations.

She stood with Tavska at her elbow, Chewbacca standing as unobtrusively as possible off to the side, watching her like a hawk – he was able to give her a wide berth at the moment, as they had not yet exited to the swarm of Media on the steps.

Next to her, one of the special members of the inquiry council approached, and Leia turned, deciding for a moment to allow the smile out as she reached out to clasp the hands of an old – ah, well, she called him a friend; but he'd often been an adversary –

"Garm," she said gently, disposing with the formalities – during the inquiry, she had referred to him simply as Councilor Bel Iblis.

"Your Highness," he responded, giving her a small, tired smile in return – he was older now, and the lines on his face were harsh and unforgiving; his appointment as lead investigator for the inquiry had likely been Mon Mothma's one subtle act in support of Leia.

Garm Bel Iblis, one of the original founders of the Rebel Alliance, certainly bore no love for Mon Mothma; he disliked her, he disliked her politics, he hadn't trusted her since he had broken ranks with her after the – now defunct – death of Bail Organa – and he had always considered the Princess of Alderaan to be one of her staunch allies and Chandrilan-brainwashed cohorts – yet he was a moral man, a shrewd man, and a supporter of anything that was not the Empire – and so he had been a strategic choice.

There was no way for him to be believably accused of being in the pocket of Leia's people, because he had publicly denigrated her collusion with Mon Mothma in the past, however – there was no fear he would allow an inquiry to deliberately concoct charges against her that did not exist.

She pressed his hands between hers now, inclining her head – he had personally questioned her on the day she had gone to chambers to answer for everything in her books, and he had been probing and acerbic, not backing down – yet he was also the man who had used his ultimate overrule vote to end the investigation when it became clear to him that the inquiry was a misguided witch hunt.

_She agreed to a special investigation, and we have found nothing even remotely out of the ordinary – we will not waste resources creating a problem where there is not one - !_

He was a noble man – and Leia hoped to thank him somehow, in the near future – when she got her footing back, dug her nails back into the foundation of her power; she would find away to integrate Garm back into the fabric of this New Republic, because though he may not have fought with their Alliance, he had fought for freedom just as they had, and with Bail back in the picture – a smoothing of ruffled feathers might be possible, and Leia thought it would be pleasant to see the original trio back in each other's good graces.

"Now that my impartiality mandate has ended, I wish to tell you that I was relieved to find nothing of concern in our inquiry," he said gruffly. He shrugged, withdrawing his hand from hers after a polite moment. He folded his arms at his waist. "I did not expect to," he said bluntly. "I always thought you rather infatuated with Mon Mothma, for most of your youth, but in the past year or so you've bucked her authority enough in some respects that I rather like you."

He gave her a sharp, wry smile.

"Or perhaps it just amuses me that one of Bail Organa's illustrious, elegant old blood relatives married one of my rough-and-tumble countrymen. He was always more of a snob than he let on."

Leia smiled, her eyes on his steadily.

"Are you sure about that, Garm?" she asked. "My adoption was never quite a secret, but as well all know now," she paused pointedly, "I am far from Organa blood."

Bel Iblis gave a rough sort of shrug.

"If you'll excuse me being rather crass, Ambassador, it makes more sense that you're a product of the late Senator Naberrie's dalliance with a rogue Jedi than that you were a bastard of the Viceroy's," he said – crass indeed, and Leia's brows went up.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, amused.

Bel Iblis smiled wryly.

"Your pacifism was weak," he said prudently, "you never clung to pleas of peace for as long as your compatriots on Alderaan – I'd even argue you used it as a front, on occasion, for your more violent dealings in the later days of the Rebellion," he mused, tilting his head. "That is not to say you were ever carelessly violent."

He thought another moment, and then snorted.

"That, and Bail Organa is, and always will be, a prude. He never would have been unfaithful to his wife."

Leia smiled thoughtfully – interested in Bel Iblis's assessment of her, and delighted by his perception of her father – she, too, thought it unreasonable for anyone to think he had ever dishonored Breha.

"Rogue Jedi?" she quoted succinctly, repeating the words delicately. "That seems a bit – ah, generous, considering."

"Would you prefer I call you the offspring of the devil, Ambassador?"

His response was sharp, and quick, his brows going up with interest.

Leia said nothing.

"Did you know them?" she asked, narrowing her eyes intently. "Senator Naberrie and General Skywalker?"

"I worked with her," Bel Iblis answered. "In the Senate, as Senators do – Naboo was an inconsequential planet, until it wasn't," he noted mildly. "I never worked with Skywalker."

He was silent for moment, and then went on –

"I did work with Vader. As I worked with Palpatine, while in the Imperial Senate," he said, inclining his head, "as did you, and I will tell you without reservation that I do not give a damn about the connection," he said.

He was quiet again, and then a grimace spread over his face as he struggled to speak his next words –

"My…late – wife," he said harshly, though the tone was no doubt to keep emotion out of his words, "was an Imperial. We disagreed on much, yet I loved her dearly. She was murdered all the same. The same was true of my children."

He shrugged simply.

Leia gave him a critical look.

"What do you say to these accusations leveled against me, that I am yet another threat disguised in innocence?" she challenged. "Sheev Palpatine took control by elected consent – deceived the galaxy – does it sound plausible to you that I, as a blood relative of Darth Vader, have been playing a lengthy game all along, to re-invigorate an Empire I pretended to defeat?"

He looked at her for a long time, and then – to her surprise – his face lit up in a wildly bright grin, and he laughed, reaching out to clap a hand on her shoulder. He shook his head raucously, and leaned forward.

"I am not sure where to begin dismantling that conspiracy theory, but I'll start with telling you I do not consider you  _innocent_ , and not  _disguised,_  Princess Leia," he said, giving her a wry smirk. "You know what you are doing – and if that was your long game, you would not have revealed any of this until your power was secure."

Leia compressed her lips, and Bel Iblis stepped back respectfully, executing a small bow – forward at the waist, respectful without being unctuous –

"I have immense respect for your transparency," he said, speaking louder than he had been – and Leia noted it drew some attention, voices quieting. He straightened up, and looked towards the doors. "This court has not found you culpable in any manner, private or political. I am afraid that makes it my duty to hand you back to the most unscrupulous court in this galaxy," he jerked his chin at the doors. "The Media."

Leia clasped her hands, and inclined her head at him as he turned to go, turning to face Tavska – she took a deep breath, and as she let it out, she found herself converged on by a small handful of others – Chewbacca, moving closer – Evaan, here as Alderaan's support, while Bail hung back away from the courts at Leia's behest – she did not want him attached to this inquiry; she wanted full control of it – Lausta, Leia's head of security, and Pooja – Pooja, who took Leia's arm in hers, and smiled fiercely.

"I've already reached out to the Queen," she noted. "She's issuing a statement on Naboo, which will be forwarded and published – you have Naboo's support – oh, and I'm sure that quote of Bel Iblis' won't go unnoticed," she added, turning and giving the man's back an impressed look.

"It was fairly poignant," Leia agreed, reaching over to touch Pooja's hand.

She bowed her head a moment, leaning closer.

"How is Ruwee?" she asked.

"Coping," Pooja said honestly, and smiled gently, keeping her own voice low. "He worries for us, and for Padmé's legacy – but I can tell you, as I've been telling you, Naboo has no patience for any smearing of their beloved Queen Amidala."

Leia nodded, giving a brighter smile. She straightened up, and squeezed Pooja's hand – Pooja had been integral in the politicking of it all, ensuring she kept the support of her people, as well as many of her closest friends in the Senate – she assuaged their wariness, and if not entirely convinced them, kept them from deserting Leia altogether – and Ruwee was an excellent bastion for Luke, and a good personal aspect of the whole story.

The Naberries as a whole were such a strong, incredible family, such a resource, and Leia was grateful for their support – near and far – through all of this, particularly since it could not have been easy to go from their self-imposed obscurity to recaptured infamy in a matter of weeks.

There were many things she wanted to do when the storm of this all faded – and she looked forward to it doing so, now that this peak seemed to be over – this shining verdict followed by a few days of positives; Lando's Pamphlet, and then the picture of her Death Star related injuries – yes, many things she wanted to refocus on after the maelstrom, and one of them was another sojourn to the Lake Country to bond with her relatives again, if they would have her—or she would host them here, on the City Planet, though she doubted that was quite as appealing.

"Your Highness," Evaan said demurely, stepping forward and indicating the wide doors leading to the outside. "They'll want to hear remarks."

Pooja nodded, and cleared her throat, looking back at Tavska.

"Do we have any prepared?" she asked kindly.

Tavska inclined her head respectfully.

"None, Senator Naberrie," she answered warmly. "The Ambassador has elected to speak extemporaneously."

"Ha," Pooja snorted. "Well, I hope no one gets on your bad side," she said smugly, and as she stepped forward, Lausta made a move forward, and Chewie stepped in line with her, clearing a path for Leia to exit the courthouse and face the madhouse –

The shouting started almost instantly, as soon as the tip of one of her pointed heels broke the threshold – she had chosen feminine styles for today; neat, expensive heels, a sapphire gown with gold accents, and a hairstyle that left wisps of hair in her face – muted make-up, save for the bold lashes that made her eyes look sharper than usual.

Lausta, a narrow expression on her pinched face, took up a position offset to the front right of Leia, eyeing the crowd, and Tavska stepped up alongside her to mediate questions, a holopad balanced gracefully in her palms.

"Princess Leia – where is your father today? Why was he not here for the verdict?"

Leia turned towards the question and paused for a moment, considering the question.

"I felt it would be counterproductive to suspend all work whilst we wait with bated breath for a verdict," she said levelly. "He is currently continuing to focus on the vast demands of the Alderaanian Council. The Diaspora mustn't suffer for my political misfortunes."

"Was he worried about the verdict, Ambassador?" another voice called. "Did he perhaps think you might be found in violation of corruption laws?"

Leia answered simply:

"No, he did not."

"Your Highness," came another voice – the fray was loud, and buzzing, and yet reporters seemed to easily give each other a moment to shout their questions – "You've been declared free of wrongdoing – what's next?"

"Business as usual," Leia quipped. "I imagine I have a plethora of messages and requests to answer."

There was a smattering of laughter. The roar of chatter started again, and Leia tilted her head a bit, trying to catch sight of Chewbacca – crowds made him nervous, and if he gave her a subtle indication that he wasn't comfortable with the mass of people, she could cut short the session of remarks –

_"Princess –_

_"Ambassador – "_

_"Your Highness – "_

The titles rang out, questions shouted over each other – she heard questions about Han, inquiries about how she felt about certain new conspiracy theories – had she seen the latest comment by so-and-so, had she seen the latest cartoon – did she want to comment on her treatment on the Death Star –

"Your Highness, if you could speak a little about what it's like to find out that your father was a tyrant who tortured you – "

"Bail Organa is my father," Leia said simply, skating over the question to the next one – she heard that reporter try to protest, but she ignored it;  _Bail Organa is my father_  – it was her stock answer, but it was a true answer: he had raised her; he had  _made_  her.

"What do you say to people who want to know how you can keep from being corrupted by the power of the Force in the same way that Vader was?"

Leia gave a demure, thoughtful smile to that question –

"My brother is the authority on those things," she said.

"You have a certain Force sensitivity as well, do you not?" the reporter persisted. "And you're in a position that could easily be corrupted by that power – "

"The Force does not corrupt; evil choices do," Leia answered swiftly.

She turned towards another as a few more questions were volleyed towards her –  _Do you have any comments on the Chief of State's silence? Do you think you being cleared will put an end to the political mistrust? Are you going to run for office once your Ambassador term is up? Do you think it is correct to assume you did not reveal this prior to being nominated because you knew it would derail – Do you have an answer for accusations that you slept with an Imperial officer to spare your life on the Death Star?_

In the midst of carefully constructing an answer to the question concerning political mistrust and the positive findings of her inquiry, one of the questions in the screeching cacophony brought her thoughts to a grinding halt, brought her mind to utter silence – silence, but for the sudden blood rushing in her ears as her eyes involuntarily snapped in the direction she'd heard –

Had – she just been asked –

She made eye contact with a short, balding, male reporter who seemed to have pushed his way to the front row, and he stared back at her with a glinting, amused sort of malice in his eyes.

Leia was incredibly skilled at dealing with reporters – she was cool, collected, and full of poise – deflected incendiary questions effortlessly – but there were things she – even she just wasn't prepared for – nowhere in her prep sessions had she imagined someone would –  _why_  would it be asked in the first place?

She kept her eyes on him icily, compressing her lips – the smile she'd been fighting vanished somewhere deep inside her, and she felt herself, voluntarily or not, summon her cool exterior, armoring her expression— and she said to him –

"Repeat your question."

He bowed his head obsequiously and looked up, smiling at her with chipped, uneven teeth.

"Your Highness, there's an Imperial source offering information that you slept with a military officer on the Death Star to ensure your own safety."

Leia stared him, her heartbeat crashing in her ears.

_Slept with – ensure your safety_  –  _but I wasn't safe_  –  _slept with?_  – Her mind howled:  _is that what you want to call it_  – ?

She managed –

"What is your  _question_?" – stressing the last word.

He gave her a sneer.

"Did you?"

She couldn't hear anything but a sort of – klaxon-like wailing in her ears, and she felt like she couldn't breathe – who had said – and what could she –

Quite abruptly, she was jerked back into a moment from – months ago, a year ago, when she had presided over the sentencing of an Imperial officer who had spit at her, and suggested –

_You weren't so high and mighty when Tarkin had you on your knees._

Her stomach twisted sharply, painfully –  _Luschek_ , she thought – remembered telling Han –  _the worst part is finding out Tarkin shared stories_  – How many Imperial officers had heard grotesque, second-hand stories of Princess Leia on her back on the Death Star floor –

She wanted to scream.

"PRINCESS LEIA!"

The shout of another reporter was the only thing that saved her –

"What do you have to say about your brother's opinion that Vader is redeemable?"

This one seemed not to notice that she was in – near complete vapor lock, seemed not to have heard the question that silenced her – and yet she knew others had; she saw the looks on their faces as they stared, first with startled interest at the reporter, than at her, hesitantly waiting for answers.

Leia felt the male reporter staring at her, noting her silence – appearing suddenly at her side, moving so swiftly Leia hadn't seen her step back, behind her, Lausta slipped her arm into the crook of Leia's elbow.

"I'm taking you to the Alderaanian Embassy," she said coolly, giving her a sharp tug.

Leia closed her eyes, and whirled around, looking for Chewie – Han had him on her at all hours of the day, but she needed to tell him to leave her, find Han, and sanitize Han's Media intake more than usual –Han would lose his mind if he heard – and she didn't want him in trouble –

"Your Highness," that slick, oily voice again, viscous with a bitter attack. "Is it true or not?"

Leia was looking at him again, inadvertently drawn back.

"You were scheduled for execution on the Death Star," he pressed loudly, "did you or did you not trade sexual favors for your life, even at the price of Alderaan?"

Suddenly her search for Chewbacca was over – he was roaring, nearly deafening her, lunging at the culprit of the question, and Leia's nails scraped against his fur, tangling in desperately, as she called out sharply to hold him back.

"Chewbacca," she shouted above the fray,  _"do not hurt him."_

Her command was instinctive, at its core purely to protect Chewbacca from litigation and from trouble, but some part of her, too, saw the political advantage in preventing injury to someone even after he said such heinous things – she knew she was in no way strong enough to hold Chewbacca back, but he obeyed her command, and the reporter was cowering, with a Wookiee snarl in his face, when Leia considered him.

The clatter of the crowd had faded to a sort of grim whisper, and Leia stared down the offender, with nothing on her lips, utterly unwitting of how she looked in that moment – was she pale, red-faced? All she saw when she focused right now was the face of an Imperial officer; all she felt was a knee jammed into her thigh, a hand grabbing the back of her neck and tilting her head up.

The man gave a short laugh.

"That isn't a story you would want out there, is it?" he taunted.

Leia bared her teeth, provoked – and at the very least, she was eloquent, even if it was the last thing she wanted to say –

"There is not a single aspect of my imprisonment on the Death Star that I consented to."

It had an edge of a snarl to it, though she was proud to hear no tremble in her voice – and Lausta removed the man, while Tavska stepped in and effectively ended the impromptu press conference.

Leia was viscerally aware of the world around her, too aware; Evaan and Pooja were at her sides as Chewbacca escorted them all, aggressive and protective, towards a secluded area on the courtyard dais – she knew Lausta would be handling detention of the harasser while Tavska arranged for Leia's transport to be brought around – and Chewbacca towered over her, shielding her from any errant holovid.

"Leia," Pooja whispered, dipping her head close, trying to catch her cousin's eye – "No one could believe something like that," she comforted.

Leia looked at her briefly, and then found herself unable to look at her for very long at all – her gaze skipped to Evaan, and the blonde woman looked back at her tiredly, her expression sharp with understanding –

"Will they have any records that could make their version look correct?" Evaan asked neutrally.

Leia compressed her lips. She held out her palms – she didn't know. She had never been involved with the teams that combed through Imperial records and handled historical archiving – perhaps in the War Crimes libraries, they had something on her, but she doubted it – she had been so high profile, and so politically contentious a prisoner, that she was almost positive anything gruesome was known by word of mouth, not official record; they would have wanted deniability.

Evaan nodded, stepping closer – shoulder-to-shoulder with Pooja, she surrounded Leia with Chewbacca at her other side, protecting her – an Alderaanian woman, having just heard that, making eye contact with her leader.

"I know that is not what happened, Leia," she said softly.

Leia looked away. Chewbacca was in front of her like – a shield, an impenetrable safety net, and she reached out for him, her hands curling around his bandolier – he looked down at her, and she wanted to tell him to go, make sure Han did not hear about this before he heard about it from Leia herself, but no words came. Chewbacca placed one of his heavy paws on her head, somehow making it feel so light and gentle, and Leia closed her eyes.

She felt ambushed. She felt – somehow, defeated, and yet, bitterly unsurprised, that this day of victory had plummeted back into the depths of vitriol. It spoke to the very nature of the politics of all of this maneuvering and mudslinging since the reveal – the good was so hard to find, and the bad easily massacred it.

* * *

_Politics_  – the word had become so unbearably loathsome that Han was damn near unable to hear it in any language without having to quell some violent physical reaction – such as a clench of his fists, his jaw, a raw urge to slam his foot into a metal wall or swear up a storm.  _Politics_  – there were good and bad aspects to it, though he rarely saw the good; the bad was glaring, obvious, starkly vicious and brutally ugly – the good, he supposed was better disguised; subtle, perhaps.

He knew there was good in the political world because Leia thrived in it, Leia devoted her vast intelligence and her relentlessly good heart to it, and because of that, Han knew there was some inherent value to governance and the games that went with it – he had seen the good things Leia had effected with her works, and he often found himself wanting to see her do more, wanting to watch her wield her power in the democracy she so firmly believed in.

Politics had treated her more cruelly than usual as of late, and Han was unforgiving – initially, he had been the one who had to be reigned in, ultimately kept shielded from the constant barrage, because it had provoked him, and set him too on edge, made him wild with anger, and his distress had hurt Leia. When he had reached the brink of tolerance with it, he'd found a justified outlet to unleash it on, and Leia had guided him toward a plateau – and then her composure had threatened to crash, when they were forced to seek safety with her father, and she was forced to relinquish her duties temporarily while she was investigated.

It had all swirled until Han and Leia both were subjected to extreme filtering of the Media muckraking, which was easier to do for Leia when she was secluded away from her office, and was always somewhat easy to do for Han, as his military duties often took place in secure areas where holos were on classified systems that did not access frivolous Media or external source.

Sanitized as his exposure to the Media was at the moment, Han had itched to absorb himself in it on this particular day – when he knew Leia's verdict was being handed down by the courts, and he had no idea if Garm Bel Iblis was going to preside over a court that cleared her, or screwed her.

This verdict was, for all intents and purposes, a turning point and a key choke point in Leia's political battle: it would be the springboard from which they made their next decisions and mapped their forward path.

She was unblemished in terms of her record, of that Han was sure – he just had no faith left that the galaxy loved her as much as he did.

He had been bitterly disabused of the belief that no one would give a damn about her heritage in light of all the good she had done, and he had lost much of the optimism that fight in the Rebellion, and seeing it succeed, had given him back.

He remained on Coruscant, following Leia's lead, an outlier in the machinations of it all – watching her bear it, increasingly wary that she was fueling herself in the wrong way – he wanted nothing more than to escape with her to Corellia so she could breathe for a second, and feel something.

He'd seen – a look in her eye that reminded him of how emotionally constricted she had been back in the early days of her father's return; she slept fitfully, though without nightmares, and he was one sleepless night away from confronting her; she was shaken by all of this, and she didn't like that she was, because she had readied herself for it.

Well, Han wanted to close a door somewhere, and let her be shaken for a day or two – and he didn't make the mistake of thinking those around her were pressuring her to be perfect; what troubled him was how good Leia was at convincing those who knew her fairly well that she was entirely fine and in control – no doubt her father, and Rouge, and even Luke, admired her coping abilities, while Han watched her go through her days thinking  _– Oh, come on, Sweetheart, come cry on me for an hour, your feelings are so hurt._

He had tried to ensure today was inundated with work to do so he was occupied and distracted until Leia reached out to him and told him she was cleared - he expected it to be short, simple, celebrated later – and yet he fell short of productive, and after a meeting with Rieekan and Madine in which it was decided he was needed to head up a garrison deployment to hold the peace in an Imperial insurgency sector, sequestered himself in the  _Falcon's_  hanger, and then towards the end of the day, returned to the Embassy.

The Residence seemed empty, not altogether unusual – and he went straight for a hot water shower to scrub off the oil and grime, lingering longer than he normally would while he wasted time, listening vaguely for sounds of movement in the suite, or the Residence as a whole.

He felt agitated, and unsure why – there was no way Leia would be indicted, or accused of anything – she was one of the most honest politicians he knew; she had publicly given a family history just to assuage any fears about her, and yet –

Anger boiled in his blood for a moment, and he tried to quell it – it would blow over, it would blow over and they'd all remember who she really was.

Han stood in the 'fresher, face upturned, wasting hot water and lazily deciding if he wanted to stand there wasting more – when the flimsy door clicked open softly. He blinked a few times, reaching up to wipe his eyes, a little taken aback that he hadn't heard anyone outside the 'fresher. He felt a hand curve lightly around his bicep, and turned to face Leia – he certainly hoped it was Leia, though there was a chance Rouge had gone stark raving  _mad –_

He pushed his hair back, stepping forward so the steady spray of water hit his back instead of dripping over him – and it was Leia, and she clutched his arm a little tighter when he faced her – steadying herself, so as not to slip on the slick floor.

He started to greet her with an alluring smile, but stopped short –

"Leia," he started, taken aback – she moved closer, slipping her arms around his waist. "Leia," he mumbled again, unsure if he should laugh – "You forgettin' something?"

He lowered his hands to her shoulders, fingers smoothing over the straps of her bra - she was still wearing her underwear set, and he wasn't sure if it had just slipped her mind, or – why else? He couldn't think of why else.

He turned his head slightly distracted, and saw that the door was still open, and just outside the threshold in the bedroom, Leia's gown from this morning lay in a blue heap on the floor, wrinkled and discarded.

Leia's hands slipped over his ribs lightly. She stared at his chest. Her brow furrowed.

"I…don't want to be naked," she said slowly, without so much as a greeting. "I feel a little vulnerable."

Han rubbed her shoulders.

"Why'd you get in the shower?" he asked, stepping back a little cautiously. He didn't necessarily want to crowd her if she felt on edge.

Leia stepped closer though, immediately reclaiming the space. She splayed her hands on his back and rested her cheek on his shoulder, pressing closer and closer for a moment.

"You're in here," she said, just barely loud enough to be heard over the water.

"I'd be out in a minute," he quipped, resting his hands on her shoulders gently. "It's the 'fresher, not hyperspace."

"Han," she answered in a pained voice. "I don't want to be around Father or Rouge, I - I had such a – such a bad day," she said, her voice cracking.

She pressed her face against him tightly, her lips shaking. Han's stomach twisted with dread, and he steeled himself - Leia had been - so calm and stoic through most of the Media commentary. If they had finally broken that armor enough to send her seeking him out like this, it had to be bad.

It couldn't possibly be that her inquiry had condemned her –

She took a deep breath and looked up at him, resting the pads of her feet lightly on the top of his.

"Will you wash my hair?" she asked, blinking in the spray of water – Han gave her a slow smile, and nodded - his instincts told him she wanted to talk about it, whatever it was - once she washed off the proverbial slime.

She felt a little unfamiliar, tucked against him in the soaking wet cloth of her bra and underwear, and she only loosened her grip on him a little as he moved around to get some of her shampoo. She shifted her head, took a deep breath, and pressed her forehead into his chest – when he slipped his hand into her hair and started to massage a lather of soap into the thick tresses, he felt her close her eyes, her lips trembling against his skin – not in a kiss; perhaps in an attempt not to cry.

He took his time washing her hair, making it a careful, soft massage – and he shifted their positions gingerly to rinse the soap out, careful of their footing so neither would slip on the tile. She faced him as the water cascaded over her, opened her eyes – there was soap gathering on her eyelashes, so he supposed the redness could be from the sting of it – but he doubted it, as he doubted that all of the water on her face was from the shower.

He stepped forward to smooth his fingers through her hair, rinsing out the last of the lather, and he spared a moment to bend down and kiss her temple, taking a deep breath as he reached behind her and shut off the water.

When the water vanished, the sound of it tapping against the 'fresher around them evaporated, and they were left in silence – and Leia stared at him a moment, her hands wrapping around herself; she shivered, and then she tried to take a deep breath, and tipped her head back, bursting quietly into sobs.

Han cleared his throat and reached out to wrap his arms around her, holding her loosely for a moment while he checked her expression. He ran his hands up and down her sides, and then slid his arm around her waist, tilting his head.

"You're cold," he muttered calmly. "C'mon, Sweetheart," he coaxed.

She stepped out of the shower with him gingerly, and he grabbed a towel and handed it to her – she was shaking slightly even in the steamy 'fresher, and he gave himself a quick towel-off before nodding his head again, beckoning her into the bedroom.

He pulled on a pair of his more casual sweatpants, and rummaged around for something for her – when he turned back, Leia had taken a seat gingerly on the edge of an ornately carved heirloom trunk in the corner of the room, her body bowed forward as if in defeat.

Soft, long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of her pants in hand, he went over and sat down next to her carefully, resting a hand on the back of her neck.

"Leia," he murmured. "Leia," he called quietly, trying to get her to look at him. "Hey, hey," he soothed softly. "What's going on?" he asked gently. "Are Rouge and Bail here?"

She had said she didn't want to be around them – said it was a bad day – he had minimal guidance on what sort of support she needed at this moment, and for a moment it left him scrambling, before he remembered it was easy to stay calm, be there, and take her cues.

Leia lifted her head a bit, and shook it back and forth.

"Offices," she murmured. "I left," she said. "I," she paused, gritting her teeth. "I couldn't take it anymore."

Han was silent, nodding. He ran his hand down her spine slowly.

"The inquiry went bad?" he asked finally, his tone dull.

To his surprise, Leia's head snapped up, and her eyes were wide, raw, as she looked at him.

"No," she said hoarsely, confidently. "No; it went as it should have," she murmured simply, giving a harsh shrug. "I was cleared."

Han's lips pulled up in a half-smile, but it was uncomfortable, wary; she was right, that was how it should have gone – but he dreaded finding out what had upset her so badly, if her career was safe for the time being – she had talked for days about how the end of this inquiry would be an invaluable movement in the right direction.

He said nothing, wracking his brains –

"Are they going after Luke?" he asked warily.

Leia merely shook her head, and Han was torn between pressing her, and simply waiting. She was silent for a while, and he cleared his throat again.

"Leia, where's Chewbacca?" he asked lamely – he felt it was the only meaningful thing he asked her these days, so absorbed was she in her politics, and so useless was he when it came to that sort of thing –

"He's downstairs," she burst out, recovering her voice. "He stays with me, Han, like you ask him to," she promised, and then looked at him, a strange expression on her face. "He nearly beheaded a reporter today."

Han – gave her something between a smug smile, and a wary grimace, unsure how to react.

"What happened at the courts, Leia?" he asked – and her response was so swift, so readily given, that he was shocked, because even a healed Leia was often difficult to talk to if she still felt cornered or wounded, and yet –

"I was asked if I slept with an Imperial officer on the Death Star in exchange for a stay of execution," she gasped, the edge to her voice wavering between unadulterated anger, and utter disbelief.

Han was still looking at her with wariness when she said it again, repeated –

"Han," she choked, "I was  _publicly_  asked if I fucked an Imperial officer."

He would have expected his immediate reaction to be a fighting stance – violent swearing, threats on his lips, and yet he looked at her, hearing the words, and all he felt for a moment was the almost irrepressible desire to cry. He gazed at her, sitting there in her short, white towel, wrapped around damp, wet underwear that she'd felt too uncomfortable to take off even with him, and he felt like crying.

He may have lacked the immediate desire to kill whoever had said something so vicious because he had come to the debilitating realization that he was simply never, ever able to protect her from this – from any of it, the initial act, or the residue.

He moved closer, swallowing hard, and reached out to touch her face as gently as he could, turning her towards him with soft fingertips on her jaw.

"Leia," he said hoarsely.

She looked up at him through her lashes, and closed her eyes, pressing the towel against her chest. She laid her head on his shoulder hard, parting her lips to breathe easier while she cried – harsh, hiccupping sobs, and Han rested his chin on her forehead lightly and let her rest all her weight against his side.

She couldn't speak for a long time, and when she did, her voice was raw –

"That will be the leading sound bite of the day," she managed to get out, "it will overshadow everything else – "

Han nodded, leaning back a little and catching her eye. He wanted to tell her no one would believe it – but he didn't have it in him to lie; if he'd learned anything throughout all of this, it was that some would believe whatever they wanted to, whether it was based in fact or not.

She started to say something else, struggled with her tears, and then turned her head to the side for a moment, staring down at the decorated top of the trunk they were sitting on.

"I never prepared for – that – "

Han reached out to catch her hair in his fingers.

"What did you say?" he asked quietly.

Her lips trembled. She moved her lips without sound for a moment, as if trying to remember, and blinked a few times.

"I can't – it's a – blur," she whispered. "I said – something about never consenting to anything in captivity."

Her face flushed, and she compressed her lips.

Han nodded.

"Yeah," he said heavily. "Doesn't seem like a bad answer," he started uncertainly – dryly – and Leia turned to him sharply.

"I can't navigate this sort of question, Han," she bit out hoarsely. "I  _can't_. If I say nothing – people may think I did something that – hideous – and if I speak to it, I have to – I have to," she broke off, losing her train of thought, and then when she spoke again, it was shy, and uncertain – "I would have to speak to rape."

Han shook his head. He touched her jaw again, leaning forward to press his forehead lightly against hers.

"You don't," he countered flatly. "Not if you don't want to."

"I cannot let it be believed – "

"You already said enough, sounds like," he snapped. "You know these – bastards – they'll think what they want no matter – "

"Evaan thinks I should make a public comment," Leia gasped. "Nothing descriptive, but an – allocution, of sorts – Pooja agrees. To counter any chance of the Media having sole narrative control. To ensure political sympathy."

"They said that to you?" Han growled, bristling a little. "They want to make this about politics?"

"Not in so many words," Leia said, closing her eyes tightly. "You have to understand – no, no, Evaan and Pooja are angry; they want me to tell the truth, to fight back – they're smart women, they know I didn't – sleep with – "

"Anyone in their right mind knows that!" Han nearly shouted, reining his volume in when Leia flinched.

He reached for her again, and Leia drew in a harsh breath, her expression dark.

"We were in the offices strategizing damage control, and I – I couldn't breathe, I had to leave – Rouge said she was sure you came home early, that you were up here – "

"I'm here, Sweetheart."

"Rouge," Leia spat, and Han was startled with the anger in the tone. "Aunt Rouge is in hysterics, in tears, so scandalized," she said harshly. "Her poor royal niece, savaged by those Imperials – her sensibilities are devastated and, and," Leia stumbled over her words: "It did not happen to her."

Han simply listened to that one, tilting his head and holding her arms in his very lightly – he turned towards her more, easily in her line of sight, his knees pressing into hers, and Leia bowed her head and breathed in and out, steadying herself –

"I am no novice when it comes to this," she ground out unnecessarily – Han knew how politically skilled she was, "I am well aware that I could garner a damn near sinful level of sympathy support by talking about this."

Han was hesitant.

"You aren't the only woman," he started, and Leia nodded.

"I know," she said, voice cracking. "I know, Han, and maybe Evaan's right, and I could even help other women if I said something, but I – there's a lot I would do for the sake of careful political moves, and I – I don't want to do this. I  _don't_  want to. It's -  _is_  it that simple? I just don't want to."

She sounded so tired, and so angry. Han reached out for her, and she caught his wrists, her eyes on his desperately.

"You think I should?" she asked. "You said I'm not the only woman," she quoted. "You said once I should have talked to a professional," she reminded him.

"Leia," he started hesitantly. "I don't know," he began, trailing off. "They can't attack you with it if you do, I guess. I want," he started. He shook his head, at a loss for what to say. He had never thought Leia was obligated to talk to anyone - about anything. He'd felt - humbled, when she confided in him; he never felt like it was his right to know certain things about her.

He sighed heavily.

"Is that what you want to do?" he asked gruffly.

She stared at him with an unreadable expression on her face for a long time, so long he'd thought he'd lost her – thought she might shut down, compose herself in that cool way she sometimes did, and return to the proverbial battlefield – then her shoulders fell, straightened again, and she shook her head once, violently.

"No," she said emphatically, her voice cold – firm with conviction. " _No_ ," she said again.

She licked her lips, reaching up to push her hair back – her towel slipped, and pooled in her lap, her skin drying, and covered in small, subtle chill bumps in the cool air.

"You know what Evaan said?" she asked. "' _There is no shame in it_ '," she quoted huskily.

Leia swallowed hard.

"It's not shame. It is  _not_  shame. I do not feel any shame. There is a concept out there that anything one will not share publicly is their shame. Yet there should not be a tax on my privacy. I do not have to tell the whole galaxy I was raped to heal. That is not mandatory. There are people – who would salivate over that fantasy," she paused, her face flushing hotly, "and I am not going to give it to them. I will never talk about my body or my relationships or my trauma publicly. It does not exist to make others feel better. It's not a gory accessory. It does not exist to make me sympathetic. I do not owe it – to  _anyone_."

She pressed her lips together hard, staring at him, and Han held her gaze, giving her one hard nod, looking at her for a long, intent moment – savoring her expression, her tired and breathtaking beauty in this moment –

"Yeah, Sweetheart, you sure as hell got that right," he told her hoarsely – he loved her more than anything, then, relieved she had taken it upon herself to keep some part of herself for herself, and not for the public – he, who hadn't even thought she was required to tell her family secrets in the first place.

She smiled a little, and lunged forward for him again, wrapping an arm around his neck, and Han caught her, pressing his lips to her brow. He closed his eyes and tucked his nose into her hair, mumbling a little incoherently against her, soothing words –

"You don't owe 'em a damn thing, Leia," he growled softly. "You've given 'em enough."

She pulled back, earnest.

"I owed the galaxy plenty, Han," she countered honestly – she licked her lips, and bit down on the lower one heavily for a moment. "I did owe them transparency about – where I come from; who I am – what the political risks are," she listed. "The Vader – revelation, it was different," she implored. "You said it," she said. "That was something they could attack me with, damage me in a completely unrecoverable way if it was out of my hands."

Han shook his head heavily.

"They hurt you with this, too," he noted grimly, his brow furrowing - he didn't always understand the difference, in what she wanted to reveal, and what she did not.

Leia nodded, her lips shaking.

"The words do not compare," she murmured –  _they do not compare to the physical violation._

She bit down on her lip, and Han leaned forward on his knees, pushing his face into his palms for a moment.

"I don't think you have to talk about any of it," he said bitterly. "You – know what you want, when it comes to this stuff – I don't know what you want me to say," he said. He sat up a little, looking back at her.

She looked back at him, her eyes soft.

"You always say the right thing," she quipped, lifting one shoulder simply. She took a deep breath, and looked down at her thighs, running her hand over them. She twisted her fingers into her damp towel, bowing her head a little as a few more tears slipped over her cheeks. "I was blindsided," she whispered shakily.

He knew – she must have been; he had watched her prepare for everything, and yet never had she hypothetically confronted a purely sadistic question like this. In all the rehearsals she and Winter had done to get ready for this – consideration had not been given to sexual accusations.

Leia closed her eyes lightly.

"I am not going to speak publicly about it," she said, almost to herself. "I," she trailed off, her voice cracking. "I have to find a way to live in a world where there are beings who think – that I slept with an Imperial officer for my own life."

Han reached over and grasped her knee, conflicted – he understood what that turmoil must be like for her; wanting, no doubt, as violently as he did to dispel any notion that she had done such a thing – and he didn't care because he had any jealousies over the idea, but because he did not want Leia smeared as heartless and nasty; he also knew that Leia had come to terms with what had happened to her at the hands of the Imperials, and the last thing she wanted – the last thing she needed – was her experience to be a public forum for others to comment on.

Leia simply did not operate that way when it came to her private life.

Han shifted, moving off of the trunk and kneeling before it. He rested his hands on either side of Leia's thighs and looked up at her, smiling softly when he caught her eye, and lowering his head to kiss her knees. Leia took a deep breath and reached down to tangle her fingers in his hair, savoring his presence.

Her lips trembled as she bent to kiss the back of his neck, and then straightened up.

"I shouldn't be so hard on Aunt Rouge," she said stiffly, and Han looked up at her thoughtfully, draping an arm over her knees and leaning on them. She grimaced, though – "Her dramatics, though," Leia said in a strained voice. "It felt – almost voyeuristic – like I was suddenly a tragic heroine in one of her soaps."

Leia's lashes fluttered.

"It's lurid and that can be – exciting, to protected classes – "

"Leia," Han murmured gently. "Rouge is not happy you were assaulted."

"I know," Leia said edgily. "I know she – doesn't know what to do, and I'm reacting to that but that is," she grit her teeth, and burst out – "That is exactly why I do not – discuss – I don't want to be defined by – trauma!" She pressed her knuckles together and tucked them against her chest. "People - do not know how to react, or behave, around me when this sort of thing is - out there," she broke off for a moment, her lips trembling. "You're an outlier, Han. You never made me feel alienated. But that's rare," she took a deep breath, "and it's bad for me. I don't want to be saddled with constantly trying to make other people feel at ease because  _I_  was raped. I want to move on."

Han nodded, and rested his jaw on her knee, looking up at her silently. She gathered the towel in her hands a bit sheepishly, pulling at threads, and then pulled it up, tucking it around her, and she lurched forward, her face falling quickly – almost guiltily.

"I want to go home," Leia whispered earnestly, pressing her hands to her chest, and then pushing them outwards, as if trying to illustrate her words. She clenched her teeth, eyes on his intently. "Han, I want to go  _home_ ," she repeated.

She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, swallowing hard, and then went on:

"Our home. This isn't home. It doesn't feel like home. It was never even homey when Alderaan existed, it was a state house, and now it's - it feels like a mausoleum, even with living people in it."

Han slid his hands over her knees, splaying his palms over her thighs soothingly. She dipped her head, holding the towel to her chest tightly, and he felt an aching sense of relief as she started to talk, as her shoulders fell and she seemed to loosen up, to start unraveling –

"I can't be myself here. I can't…walk around in just your t-shirt, I can't," she shook her head and sighed, struggling with it.

She felt confined; like she had no outlet, and Han had sensed it very early – she was tense with her Father, tense with Rouge, walking around composed even when the work day was over and she was safely behind private doors.

Han ran his hands over her gently, his chest tight. He hadn't felt her relax in weeks, and it had been eating at him – he was the one who had insisted they come here, for her safety, worried as he was, and it hadn't been good for her from day one – the physical security of the Embassy juxtaposed itself directly with the emotional safety of  _their_  home.

"It's your family, Leia," he said quietly, trying to offer some comfort, "they won't mind you bein' normal you."

Leia tossed her head.

"My non-public normal is not the same as it used to be," she hissed delicately, and leaned closer. "I mind. I want some - some goddamn privacy. I'm - Han, I'm so," she sighed, and grit her teeth, and he saw the fear in her eyes as she struggled with her next confession:

"I'm so angry," she whispered, cringing.

Han looked at her for a moment, and felt a surge of triumph –  _Yeah, Sweetheart, you are angry – this whole ordeal has treated you like shit, and you ought to scream –_

"Okay, so be angry."

He took her silence for reluctance, and bared his teeth provocatively.

"Be  _pissed_ , Sweetheart," he coaxed, his tone cool, and tempting – he nudged her knees with his elbows, nodding his head.

Leia have him a slow, lingering blink - and mimicked his growling expression slowly, the snarl spreading across her lips, and Han nodded again.

"Leia," he ground out through gritted teeth, his eyes narrow. "You've put up with your friends slanderin' you, with offensive investigations; you talked about things you didn't want to talk about – they called you names, they've told lies, they've used your honesty for petty politics – "

"I prepared for this," Leia broke in.

"I don't give a damn," Han retorted. "You prepared for it, you got ready for the worst, and they had the nerve to give it to you? After all you gave them? You've got a right to be pissed," he said aggressively. "You got to give into it a little bit – you got to rage a little, Leia," he said.

He swallowed hard, and then drew himself up to his full height – as tall as he could be, on his knees – and pressed his palms down on her shoulders.

"You're so damn hyperaware of the Vader connection right now, you're not lettin' yourself be human," he said sharply. "You – you told me yourself, you've got to be perfect, collected, calm – fine, give 'em that in public, but give me the anger," he encouraged. "Come on, get angry – I'm pissed, too," he said, "you know how I was at first – all pent up, losin' my mind."

She nodded, captivated by him – he needed her to remember that repression had never helped her before; it had only haunted her, hurt her in the end, and she could do all she needed to do in politics, but she had to leave it at the door – when she was alone with him, she had to remember – even if Bail heard her – it was okay to scream and swear and be furious with those who were so fickle, and so hell-bent on tearing her down.

"How long's it been since you screamed, Leia?" he looked at her intently – there was a double meaning to his words, and she didn't miss it; she didn't have any interest in sex at the moment, but she knew as well as he did that she had hardly derived any true pleasure in bed in the past few nights, and it had everything to do with the tight confines she was putting herself in during the day. Too many evenings of her whispering in Han's frustrated ear -  _not your fault, Han, not your fault -_

Her lips parted, and she shook her head – not since the first day or so after the reveal; while here she was hampered in her ability to – as she said, really be herself, the person that she was in her core after the war, after the loss of Alderaan, after the Death Star –

Han leaned closer.

"Leia," he breathed, "tell me how angry you are," he tempted.

"I don't want to be controlled by my anger," she said huskily.

"You don't have to be," Han said flatly, "you just have to feel it – c'mon, you can't move on until you feel it – that's how it works sometimes."

"Is it?"

"I don't make the rules."

She gave a choking laugh, and Han reached up and cupped her jaw in his hand. He moved closer, pressing his lips to her jaw, moving his mouth to her ear, whispering in a low growl –  _just be angry – it's just me, just me, you're alone with me, baby –_

Leia grabbed onto his shoulders tightly, closing her eyes, and setting her jaw. She sat back, gasped, her eyes blazing, and gave a frustrated, half-groan, half-scream –

"They can't treat me like this!" she forced out, her eyes dark. "I have bled for these people. I have been merciful to people who deserve  _death_  – I have devoted my life, my adolescence, to the war, and to this Republic, and the accusations they make – the things they say – "

She shook her head, her claws out now, and Han reared back, watching her, nodding encouragingly – like a fight coach, provoking her own, his own expression fortifying in how he agreed with her –

"It would be easy, it would be painfully easy, to be exactly like Vader," she hissed, "tyranny is so easy – and even if it is in my blood, I am strong enough to resist – I'm tired of the Media, I am sick of free speech, if that's the hateful way they're going to use it – "

Han leaned forward on her knees, wrapping his arms around her thighs tightly and listening, listening to every word, a small, wry smirk on his face – he let her go, let her say whatever came to mind, whatever she needed to – she could say things as threatening as they came, and yet he had no fear of seeing her fall – one of the things he had always loved about Leia was that she felt things as passionately as he did, and yet her self-control was leagues more powerful than his – he thought a woman with her power, and simultaneous lack of corruption, was an astounding thing to behold.

* * *

At Varykino, Ruwee Naberrie had made his peace with Bail Organa and the actions he had taken two decades ago. He had sent the Viceroy on his way, his feelings of bitterness somewhat assuaged – and with quiet apprehension, he had prepared himself and his family to support Luke and Leia on Coruscant when the time came to reveal. Through all of that, though he had remained cordial with Bail, he never anticipated – or intended – to develop the kind of relationship with him that would entail sitting down and commiserating over tea.

Yet, at what was perhaps the crux of the fray surrounding their families, he indeed found himself settling in for tea with the Viceroy – and in the weary hours of the evening, he chose to focus on the things they had in common – wronged daughters – than the things that left a contentious wedge between them.

He had come to see Leia, if she was available – he had already paid a visit to Luke this afternoon, and the young Jedi was distracted, a little sullen in his effervescent way – he had been going to meditate, and Ruwee graciously excused himself.

He was out of luck with his granddaughter as well, it seemed; Bail had graciously welcomed in to the inner chambers of the Embassy residence, but given him an apologetic grimace of a smile –

"Leia, ah, isn't receiving," he remarked, and then winced, as if he realized it sounded archaic and elitist; reminiscent of the way his hierarchical class spoke amongst each other.

Ruwee nodded, hesitating stiffly in the foyer – and Bail gestured him in.

"Ruwee, stay a while," he offered sincerely. "I'm sure Pooja is handling things politically – there's no need for you to isolate yourself from us."

And so – Ruwee stayed, taking the seat he was offered in the vast sitting room, accepting the friendly pastime of drinking tea while lamenting something troubling – and he was able to at least say hello to Han, and pass his regards to Leia, as Solo was leaning over a sofa, speaking to Rouge when Ruwee was led in.

"You're quite positive she's alright?" Rouge was asking, and Ruwee shared a glance with Bail – Bail shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Yes," Han said – and his tone implied it was the umpteenth time he had told her that, "she doesn't want to talk about it, Rouge," he said edgily.

"I don't want to – hear a soliloquy from her – "

"A solilo –  _Kriff_ , Rouge – "

"Don't swear at me."

"She doesn't want you looking at her all – mopey – "

"Am I not supposed to look at her ever again? Han - !"

"She needs one damn day, for fuck's – "

"Han," Bail interrupted narrowly. He tilted his head at Ruwee, indicating they had company, and then turned a look on his sister. "Rouge, Leia can be alone if she wants to be alone. Let her be for a little while."

Rouge straightened up, standing to greet Ruwee like the well-bred lady she was.

"I only want to see her," she huffed quietly, extending her hand to Ruwee. "Ruwee, lovely to see you," she said tightly. "Though the circumstances of your being on Coruscant have been consistently grating, have they not?"

Ruwee nodded in agreement, giving a small respectful bow over her hand. He looked past her shoulder at Han.

"Will you pass my regards to Leia, Han?" he asked kindly. He paused, and then cleared his throat. "If it will offer any sort of comfort to her, will you tell her that her mother would have been proud of her?"

Han blinked a few times, the irritated look on his face fading – he seemed to appreciate Ruwee prefacing his statement with a request that Leia only be told if it would actually help. Rouge turned her head curiously –

"There's not a day that goes by that Breha wouldn't have been proud of her – "

"Rouge," snapped Han, before Bail could step in.

Bail hastily cut Han off with a shake of his head, sensing a nasty comment on the tip of the former smuggler's tongue - the Viceroy cleared his throat, as Ruwee said:

"I was referring to my daughter, Lady Organa."

Rouge paused.

"Yes, of course," she said swiftly. "Senator Naberrie – yes, both of them," she began, and Bail held up his hand.

"Rouge, would you mind stepping out to fix some tea?" he asked kindly – and she nodded stiffly, compressing her lips – relieved to be rescued for a moment to compose herself.

Han shook his head, and then reached up and rubbed his forehead tensely, looking back at Ruwee after a moment.

"Yeah, I'll tell her," he said bluntly. He gave a good nod in Ruwee's direction. "It's not that she doesn't want to see you," he offered. "She's," he paused, waving his hand.

Ruwee held up his hands.

"No explanation needed," he said honestly. "I don't begrudge Leia her personal space."

Han smiled tightly, and nodded. He pushed away from the sofa he'd been leaning on, crossed his arms, and turned to Bail.

"I'm gonna get her to eat," he said, brushing his knuckles against his jaw as he spoke to Bail. He shrugged. "I don't think she's gonna fight me – and then we're goin' to bed." He looked up and held up his palm. "She's alright, Bail, you hear me?"

Bail nodded.

"Believe it or not, I do take your word for these things, now," he quipped, and Han gave a wry, distracted smile, waving his hand – he gave another nod to Ruwee before turning and leaving – Ruwee heard his heavy boots on the stairs as he disappeared into the labyrinth of suites within the residence.

Bail sighed heavily, and Ruwee sat down with him, glancing around the Viceroy to the path Rouge had taken out of the sitting room.

"The ups and downs are constant, are they not?" Bail asked dryly, sitting forward and resting his forearms on his knees.

Ruwee nodded, his palms curved around the arms of his chair tensely. He took a moment to relax, and lifted his chin, looking at the spot where Han had stood.

"He seems calm," Ruwee remarked mildly. "Has he been made aware of what Leia was subjected to this afternoon?"

Bail glanced over his shoulder at where Han had been, and turned back. He nodded.

"Leia excused herself from our Council meeting after the fact," he said. "She's been up in her suite ever since – you seem surprised Han's aware," Bail noted. "Why?"

"Well," Ruwee said delicately, "he was quick to defend her, aggressively, when I said my uncouth piece at Varykino," he explained. "I would have expected him to - be out for blood, to put it bluntly."

"I have no doubt that he is," Bail said grudgingly. "He knows it won't change anything or do Leia any good." Clearing his throat, Bail leaned back a little, looking around as Rouge returned with a tray of tea.

Ruwee nodded, his expression grim.

"I was at Naboo's Senate offices, when the footage was broadcasted," he murmured, accepting a cup of tea from Rouge with a kind nod. "Heinous," he said simple. "Vulgar."

"It is a fraudulent charge," Bail said, and Ruwee's head snapped up earnestly, his expression confident.

"That I know," he said shortly. "That question was leveled at her with no intention of receiving any sort of answer. It was a humiliation tactic – the premise so blatantly false, that the truth was obvious without a single comment from her."

Bail looked miserable, as he accepted his tea, and Rouge sat down tiredly, her hand going up over her face.

"You told me explicitly that the Grand Moff's remarks last year were nonsense, Bail," she said hoarsely.

"I lied," Bail said flatly.

"How could you – "

"You were better off not knowing, were you not, Rouge?" Bail interrupted sharply.

He turned to look at his sister, and she wiped tears from her cheeks, setting her shoulders back and meeting his eyes. She bit her lip shakily, and shook her head.

"They hurt her worse than I possibly imagined," Rouge whispered.

"It's the  _imagining_  of the galaxy that irks Leia, I'm sure." Bail answered heavily.

Ruwee cleared his throat, looking down at the steaming liquid in his mug.

"What is disheartening to me – is the very idea such a thing could be used to humiliate her, in the eyes of the people," he compressed his lips tightly, anger, and sadness, coursing through him. "Leia is not at fault."

"No, certainly not," Bail said.

There was a long, heavy silence, and Ruwee cleared his throat.

"Is this – something that is on record, and was kept under wraps?"

"It is not on record," Bail said stiffly. "Leia does not talk about it."

"How," Ruwee began – and Rouge nodded, speaking up with him as well – " _How_?"

Bail shook his head, and spread his hands out, fingers twitching.

"Word of mouth," he muttered – that was what Leia assumed. "Han knew. I knew," he paused, "those who treated her after the Death Star – suspected."

Ruwee was silent. He brought his tea to his lips, uninterested in discussing it more – all he knew was that he experienced a devastating lack of surprise at the implication of things Leia had been subjected to, and he felt sorrow for her, like he felt sorrow for the suffering his daughter had endured. He reached up to rub his forehead, and Bail sat back, looking ahead of him with a hollow expression.

"Another thing you may resent me for, Ruwee," he said quietly. "I certainly blame myself."

"Bail," Rouge said hoarsely, wiping her face again. "This was not your fault."

"No," Ruwee agreed, swift and honest. He looked at the Viceroy without animosity, and with a calm expression. "The more I am surrounded by all of this, the less resentment I feel towards you, Bail – you did what you could to protect her."

Bail said nothing, and Ruwee felt a kinship with his silence – the silence of a man who, on many a logical level, probably knew that there were things always beyond his control, and yet could not resist blaming himself – just as Ruwee had never stopped feeling guilt over the way he had gloried in Padmé's intelligence and political acumen, pushed her towards greatness - somehow, felt that everything had happened to her after her election as queen was his fault, even when her choices were so wholly her own.

Rouge looked over, and with a polite clearing of her throat – elegantly guided the conversation, as was one of her many talents.

"How is Pooja, Ruwee?" she asked. "And the rest of your family?"

Ruwee inclined his head.

"Pooja is well. She is…not subjected to the same level of attention as Leia, or even Luke. She focuses her energy on trying to make this conversation more equally about Padmé, since Vader overshadows it all – she strives for that, and Naboo supports her in it," he paused, and smiled gently. "My family is well. My wife is a formidable woman, and so is my elder daughter, Solo. The little ones – well, they hold their own with sheer optimism. It is hard – even for reporters – to be cruel to children who see nothing more in the reveal than the excitement of being related to heroes."

Rouge gave a watery smile.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said. "I should like to meet them – Luke encourages us to integrate our families, though it might mean some growing pains," she explained. "I do like children," she noted softly. "Many of my fondest memories of Leia are from her earliest years."

Ruwee smiled.

"My granddaughter Ryoo is very determined to bring the little ones to the Alderaanian Haven, when it opens," he said, "and Leia has mentioned a second visit to Varykino, a more open one, once this all dies down some – perhaps you will join her."

Rouge smiled again, and leaned forward to take up a mug of tea that she had been letting cool.

"When this all dies down," she quoted listlessly. "Will it, do you think?" she looked between the two men – both of them intelligent, both of them more immersed in this world than she was – and hoped for an optimistic answer.

They both hesitated, and then Bail spoke:

"All things eventually fade," he said slowly. "Even the most explosive of scandals, so to speak, lose traction – the galaxy moves on," he explained, "and they will move on from this."

He paused, and compressed his lips tightly.

"The question is – "

"Where will Leia be when they move on," Ruwee supplied – not quite interrupting, but gently finishing Bail's thought, and the Viceroy nodded grimly, his shoulders sagging.

"Yes," Bail agreed, muttering: "where will Leia be when the dust settles," he paraphrased – there was a bitter edge to his tone.

It was Rouge who spoke in the silence that followed, soft, but a little indignant –

"Right where she is now," she said, a forceful whisper. "Leia is  _good_  for this galaxy."

Bail laughed good-naturedly.

"We all believe that, Ro," he agreed warmly. "It seems many suddenly beg to differ."

Rouge shook her head.

"You needn't enlighten me, Bail, I'm aware," she said tiredly. "I have never found myself so at odds with old friends of the Elder Houses – they are so disdainful of her blood, and yet nothing has changed about who she is," she broke off. "I find myself thinking twice about every comment I've ever made about Han's crudeness. He's never treated Leia poorly because of – Vader."

Bail nodded, smiling wryly.

"It's rather frustrating to be shown your snobbish faults by a former criminal, is it not?" he asked knowingly, having experienced that himself – and gotten over it more quickly than Rouge had, for Leia's sake.

"Maddening," Rouge said faintly – and Ruwee laughed.

He sat forward, holding up his hand.

"Do you know what baffles me?" he asked, dumfounded. "Did you know – there are whole pockets of beings that simply do not believe that Luke and Leia are the children of Anakin Skywalker – Darth Vader," he said, eyes wide in skeptical annoyance. "They  _shrug_  it off. They simply respond to opinion polls with – 'that is just another rumor.' And yet  _those_  people are not the ones most vocal, center stage in the news," he mused.

Ruwee set his teacup aside.

"Instead, front and center – we have – these who believe Luke and Leia are in collusion with the Empire, or those who simply want to paint them with black brushes to seize Leia's power – Imperials who want to use her as an unwilling figurehead to be a rallying point – "

"That is working better than some think," Bail said heavily. "General Rieekan is going to send Han to monitor an insurgency sect in the Western Reaches," he revealed grimly.

Rouge caught her breath.

"Carlist can't take Han away from Leia right now," she said stubbornly.

Bail waved his hand, placating her.

"It isn't immediate – and Leia is aware," he soothed.

Ruwee nodded, rubbing his jaw in disbelief.

"Not to mention there are these – inexplicable Vader – fanatics who had some eerie obsession with him, and now want to hero-worship Leia – never  _mind_  the fact that she has given no indication of any interest in Vader, much less a pardon of him or an argument for his innocence."

Again, Ruwee shook his head, and Bail snorted –

"All sorts, all sorts," he mused. "And yet you're right – it is never the innocuous ones that are the vocal majority."

Ruwee scoffed, his jaw tightening.

"It feels naïve to say I had hoped – that the Media – the galaxy would prove me wrong, and rally to her, rather than getting into the sewers of gossip and sensationalism."

Bail gave a long sigh.

"Ruwee, I think even a part of Leia had hoped for that," he said heavily. He thought about it for a moment, and then went on: "And I think, in some respects, we still must cling to that optimism – if we are to have any hope of keeping ourselves honest as we go forward."

"Spoken like a true pacifist," Ruwee said wryly, and Bail raised his glass to toast his peer, a small, resigned small on his face.

"I seek out the good things where I can," Bail said honestly. "It bolsters me – the Alderaanian Diaspora stands with her still, and so does Naboo – and we must remember that so much of this is not even necessarily personal; Mon Mothma loves Leia, and yet has been silent in many respects to preserve her political position – and others are just using negative leverage to bolster theirs."

Ruwee looked bitter.

"That I understand, but politics aside for a moment – there should be more speaking out for her, rather than still letting the Media rule it all, and anticipating where she might end up as it fades away – Mon Mothma most of all."

Rouge lifted her hand sharply.

"I agree," she snapped. "I understand that woman is in a precarious position, as Chief of State – yes, Bail," she said, as he opened his mouth, "I understand more than you think – but she  _owes_  Leia a statement. She  _owes_  my niece her loyalty. Politics be damned."

Rouge paused, her expression thin.

"She was a part of this, too, was she not?" she asked, her tone clipped, eyes on Ruwee. "From the very beginning, she sought to buck the Empire, and she used Leia to help her do it – and if she does not speak for her soon, then I have half a mind to decide Gam Bel Iblis was right when he accused her of intending to grab power for herself."

Bail closed his mouth, staring at his sister with a mildly surprised look, and Ruwee's brows went up with mild amusement – and  _delight,_  he was delighted with such a speech, as he agreed with it.

"Mon Mothma has, on many occasions, been righteous to a fault," Ruwee noted.

"I will speak in support of her in some respects, though," Bail said mildly. "Her appointment of Garm Bel Iblis as special prosecutor was directly to aid Leia – many assumed he would destroy Leia just to spite Mon Mothma, and others were sure he bore a grudge against Leia regardless. When he presided over a committee that cleared her – it looks cleaner than anything else."

Ruwee nodded.

"I said she was righteous. I did not say she was stupid – nor," he said wryly, "am I convinced she is silent of her own accord – I would not put it past Leia to have asked Mon Mothma make no comment until an opportune moment."

Bail smiled wryly.

"Neither would I," he said. His smile became a little heavy. "I have no knowledge of it, if she has," he said, going on slowly: "I have – inquired as to Mon's reticence, and she informed me that she had initially advised Leia against revealing this. I think – they are at odds."

Ruwee shook his head, shrugging tiredly – he hoped that was not the case

"Advising Leia against this reveal was a mistake," he said. He rubbed his forehead. "Leia has been right since the beginning – things have a way of coming out; they always do – as she experienced roughly today."

Bail nodded, and met Ruwee's eyes.

"It was always better that she be the arbiter of this narrative," he said quietly.

"Braver," Ruwee noted. "It was brave."

Bail cleared his throat.

"Padmé certainly would have been proud," he affirmed. "She was there at the beginning, too – one of our original Rebels," he said gruffly, "and Leia has continued her legacy."

Ruwee returned the Viceroy's gaze strongly – he did not need to be flattered about Padmé; he valued his daughter more than anything, and he had never doubted her good works and what she stood for.

In return, he said –

"Queen Breha would have been proud, as well."

Bail inclined his head gratefully – and Ruwee sat back, content to continue with this tea, and this reflective conversation – they were two patriarchs of influential, tragedy-prone families, and they were becoming elders, legacies themselves – watching the generations that followed them fight their own battles and – if fate were kind – win them.

* * *

Leia had wanted to get out of the Embassy Residence, and spend the night – just this one night, for some respite in a familiar, valuable privacy – on the  _Falcon_. Han had convinced her otherwise –  _Han_ , unexpectedly, had argued against the  _Falcon,_  and in favor of staying put where they were: in this safe haven, though his trusted ship was more than safe – he told her, persuasively, that the only way to overcome the alienation she felt in the family circle was to be herself, as she was now, even it was an adjustment for them at first.

She lay next to him now, gazing up at the sleek canopy that arched over her – and contemplated how right he was; listening to his soft, not-quite-snoring – he'd somehow fallen asleep with his head on her shoulder – she wondered, without any real sense of wonder, how he had gotten so smart.

The suite they stayed in was one that had been hers by right and by experience; it was the sanctioned Embassy quarters of the heir apparent of Alderaan. The antique bed was one that had been in the Organa family since before she had ever been a part of it; it had been damaged in the sack of the Embassy, restored by Aunt Rouge's care – Leia had slept in it as a child, as a teenager, and – more rarely – as a young adult; when the royals were on Coruscant, this is where she had stayed – and now, Leia stayed here a different woman than she had been then.

Those had been days when the intimate core of the family was the safest place for her, a young darling of the elite; where her mother had simply been her mother, rather than the queen – and her father had been her father, rather than the Viceroy – Winter had been a sister, and not a lower ranking foster sibling – part of her distress recently had been the jarring memory of all that, clashing with how uptight she felt around her father and Aunt Rouge now, even after hours – in private.

She knew – she had known since the day of their return, and all through the readjustment process, that things were never going to be as they had been; it had been easier to cope with and ignore when she lived separately from her family, and was not repeatedly confronted with the differences. Han was right when he told her –  _yeah, Sweetheart, it ain't ever gonna be like that again, but that doesn't mean you have to keep it together around 'em – make 'em get used to it –_

Condition them, in other words, her father and Rouge – and even Winter, to some extent – to the full reality of who she was now – and she liked, she liked who she was now, even loved herself; it was simply that –

She had been comporting herself in the manner she knew they expected was natural, in the manner of the Princess they had known in her youth, instead of truly relaxing and using her private time to recharge.

Bail had seen her – at the worst, surely; he had been there after her meditation with Luke, and he had been there for one of her nightmares, but she had still been metering her post-war personality around them – and it was exhausting her; grating on her.

_How long has it been since you screamed, Sweetheart?_

Leia smiled a little, tilting her head and biting her lower lip – when she shifted, her nose brushed up against Han's forehead, and his steady breathing stuttered a little; he turned his head, rolled off her shoulder and onto his back, his soft snoring rising in volume just slightly.

That question had summed it all up – Bail and Breha's poised, elegant daughter would never have stormed home from work and screamed at the top of her lungs to release some tension, only to follow it with a glass of whiskey and some off-colour banter with a lover – but Leia thrived on that sort of wildness now, and she had felt torn between Han's Leia, and the Leia of her childhood, while here.

Physical safety – juxtaposed with emotional safety – it was the simplest way to put it, and while this evening had given her some relieve – Leia still wanted to go home.

She took a deep breath, watching Han sleep for a while – he had stayed secluded with her tonight; fended off her father's worry, made sure she ate, made her laugh, listened to all her burning frustration and poisonous rage – taken her to bed and damn near driven her to tears with his tongue – some sort of clandestine thrill, coursing through her as he made love to her in her childhood bed – and she hadn't worried about anyone hearing her; that was part of deconstructing her tension, was it not? - she was married and in love and as interested in lust as any other woman, and there was no need to blush and demure and act as a paragon of virginity –

It hadn't mattered tonight; it was one of those nights – Han made her come so intensely she couldn't make a sound, she could only hold onto him – hands in his hair, teeth on his shoulder –

Leia reached over and touched her wrist to his brow lightly, her eyes roaming over his tranquil expression – she had watched him struggle, and struggle, and  _struggle_  with all of this, with how they belittled and disparaged her; she had worried for his state of mind, and regretted the burden she placed on him, and yet when they threw the worst of it at her – Han was calm, her rock – reliable, and insightful.

She drew her hand back gingerly, unwilling to disturb him, and returned to her back – it was what hurt her more than anything, the criticism they leveled at Han. The easiest way to provoke her was to go for the jugular of the people she loved – Han, Luke, the blameless Naberries, her friends, those who served her –

Remnants of the anger she had expressed earlier stirred in the pit of her stomach, and she felt a rush, a resurgence of purpose – the expressive, uninhibited tirade Han had allowed her had felt incredible – to unleash all of her pent up rage and devastation at all of this – she had felt vindictive, and wild, and still Han listened, validating all of that.

Luke had said it, and now Han had said it – it did not matter that she had prepared for the political aftermath as she had; she was still allowed to feel all of the understandable human emotions.

She compressed her lips, thinking of her public persona – of how closely connected she had been with Vader and the Empire, in these weeks of Media cycles; her worst nightmares playing out on screen as they compared her to him, accused her of collusion, predicated her fall in the future – and she took it in with trepidation, because that fall from grace was exactly what she so violently feared was in her blood – inevitable, and dark.

She thought of her father, calling her totalitarian, a stark example of how different she had once been at home, of how different she was from her graceful mother – Leia could feel cruel without acting on it, but her mother, she was sure, had never felt cruel or wicked in her life – and sometimes, Leia wanted vengeance more than she wanted peace.

_You're stronger than all that, Leia – you've never acted like an Imperial, no matter how you feel – that's the whole damn point_  – Han had said – and Han was right –

She still – was wary of the full capacity of her emotions, though; hadn't she told Luke, explicitly, that she wanted no part of Jedi training because it required a tempering of emotions, and she wanted to be able to feel? She had spent such a long time in persistent numbness that she relished her sojourn back to emotional health, and integrating the Jedi's talent for moderated emotions with her tendency to repress herself could be dangerous – yet full utilization of her emotional range, combined with the Force – could be just as dangerous.

She had felt what it was like to wield that power when her feelings were running at their peak high, volatile and electrically charged – it felt good, selfish in ways she never allowed herself to be – it felt consuming, and omnipotent, and that was the exact addiction that had lured every Jedi who sought the teachings of the Sith.

Seeing herself so often compared to him, to Vader – their positions of power; their shared histories of at one time, both being a beloved hero of a Republic – Leia grit her teeth; why couldn't they compare her to Padmé, to  _her_  – they had just as many similarities, if this were all determined by  _blood_ , Leia had an equal chance of being as good and noble as the woman who had given her life –

_Beautiful, beloved, strong – dead and defeated before her time_  – Leia's thoughts whispered to her, and a more sinister part noted –  _You must be more like him, to have subverted, survived – thrived._

She closed her eyes, tired of the doubt in herself – her future was not determined by the choices of genetic relatives; the Force be damned, she was in charge of her own destiny, and even if she were like him, at her core, she could boldly elect to be different –

She tilted her head back, eyes still closed lightly, dreamily, resolving herself – she had been cleared; she could get back on track, out of this rut – she could feel, and work, and strategize – keep herself strong – she was nothing – she wasn't him - -she wasn't the Empire.

Doubt gripped at her, and her eyes fluttered tiredly –  _was she?_

The fabric of the night around her seemed to shimmer, and she blinked, her eyes heavy with insomnia – she felt – as if she were no longer alone; she felt that unique hum of power around her, and abruptly, she focused, realizing she was no longer gazing aimlessly at the canopy –

Awake or dreaming, she couldn't be sure – but it felt real, the way a dark, ominous mask loomed over her, onyx, glassy orbs staring down at her, false eyes in the night around her – she caught her breath, ready to scream, she didn't feel pinned, but she stared into the void of Vader's metal face, glaring up at him from her back, wondering where she was, when she'd fallen asleep, if she was twisting back in time –

– and he spoke, screws and metal seeming to grind as his head moved slightly, lights glowing in his eyes flickered, and in that deep, chilling voice said – cold, and raw, and vehement –

_You are nothing like me._

Shocked – Leia's trapped breath rushed out of her in a harsh, quietly hoarse shout, and she jerked forward, her eyes opening, straining wide – she didn't feel like she'd jolted awake, she felt as if she'd – was it an apparition, or a nightmare – ? but then, her nightmares never told her things she  _wanted_  to hear –

Heart pounding, she blinked a few times, and then looked around hastily, laying back when she recognized her bedroom, the familiar moonlight from her window – Han, sleeping next to her – or

Not quite sleeping, she noticed, as a sudden wave of calm flooded her, and she settled down, relaxing back. Han shifted groggily, his hand creeping over in the space between them, patting over her shoulder, to her chest, and brushing her cheek.

Eyes closed, he rolled closer, tucking his nose against her neck, clearing his throat sleepily. Half awake, half still comfortable in sleep, he sighed and nudged her leg with his soothingly.

"Shhh," he mumbled, faithful as clockwork, reliable, and present. "Yeralrite," he said, muffled, tired.

Leia closed her eyes, and reached up to cover his hand with hers, her heart calming into a steady rhythm –

"Hmm?" he murmured, pitch going up a little at the end, a wordless question –  _are you really alright, or do I need to wake up – ?_ She knew his nonverbal communication by heart, and he was good at gauging the severity of her bad dreams

"I'm fine," she whispered honestly. She turned into him, and kissed his jaw. "Go back to sleep."

Han sighed contently, shifting his head. He kissed her neck a few times, and rested his head on the pillow next to hers, sliding his arm under her and tugging her closer, a safety net – just in case. He cleared his throat sleepily, and Leia reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, combing it affectionately until his breathing settled back down.

Her heart slowed from its jittery pounding to a normal rhythm, and with narrow eyes she stared above her again – vision, apparition? – she asked herself again – it hadn't been a dream, that much she decided; she hadn't been asleep – it had been Him, appearing to her.

Reassuring her?

She breathed out slowly, her eyes wide – then why had he not appeared to her as Anakin, as the tired, beaten old man, or the golden boy with the dashing scar –

_Because,_  she thought to herself –  _you identify with Anakin_ ;  _you have commonalities with Anakin –_

She caught her breath –

_You have no commonalities with Vader – he appeared as his worst self to reject you –_

Reject her, and the clean soul she fought to keep from the clutches of the Dark Side.

Something tugged at her mouth – a smile, a cautious frown; she wasn't sure - she did not want to smile at the thought of Darth Vader invading her private thoughts, but she felt soothed.

He was right, Han was right, her father was right – Luke was right, and the parts of her that despised Vader were right; she was – ultimately – nothing like him, and any similarities were demolished in the face of the strength she had always displayed when it came to making difficult choices, and never taking the easy way out.

She turned to her side, wrapping her arms around Han's shoulders tightly, snuggling in close to him, tucking her head up under his chin and against his chest, and he mumbled something incoherent in his haze of sleep, the rumble his voice like a lullaby –

She had told him she had to be perfect, composed, give no opportunity to seem violent or harsh or similar to Vader – and in doing so, she had let them paint her into a corner of black and white morality; good versus evil, rather than shades of grey – and that was going to end immediately – from this point forward, she resolved to stop letting the galaxy dictate how she had to act in order to be safe from a connection to Vader –

She was incontrovertibly connected to him.

From this point on, her power was going to lie in being who she was, politically and personally, in spite of that – instead of allowing the galaxy's intense focus on a paltry biological framework to define what good and bad actions were.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -alexandra


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: finis!
> 
> ** I would say there is a minor trigger warning on this chapter, but I'm also not an expert on what should be called "minor" and what shouldn't, so I'm making a note of it regardless. It's the same TW that always applies to the Identity 'series and I think there's a warning in the tags. Sexual assault/Past Rape.

_Part 3:_

_Long Term Backlash_

_6 ABY_

* * *

When the Galactic Senate reconvened after a customary break in session, Leia was there in her rightful seat – bright and early, front and center; brazen and unmistakable in white – a pillar of unshakeable calm, graceful and ready for action.

Though she did not sit with the delegates that represented the Alderaanian Diaspora – Leia's place was in a separate pod, as she was an appointed Ambassador who served the Chief of State, and the Republic proper – Leia wore the traditional trousseau of her adopted planet. She had chosen her attire with a deep sense of purpose – from the pure white of the fabric, to the delicate, regal gold metal detailing that lined the shoulders and cape, she associated herself with Alderaan, and with House Organa – save for the intricately braided hairstyle she had chosen specifically for this day.

Her hair was pulled back and held with a simple gold circlet, two thin lines that neatly decorated her forehead; loose twists – not quite braids, wound behind her ears and hugged all of her locks into an elaborate five-strand braid. The style used no pins, merely tucks and knots, to hold itself together, and looked pristinely messy – it was something, Sola and Jobal Naberrie had assured her, that Padmé favored, and though Leia by no means expected her colleagues to recognize it – such a gesture gave her satisfaction, and strength.

To combine aspects of Alderaan, and of her Nubian mother, together in a presentation of herself at the advent of this new Senate session – the first she would participate in as both a daughter of House Organa, and the newly-revealed blood relative of Darth Vader – it was fitting, and it was right; she wanted her chosen family represented – she wanted the decisions she had made, and the path she had taken, to take prominence, and be strikingly obvious to the press, and all those they to whom they told their story.

She had exhausted her efforts in monitoring the narrative, reacting and placating, and remaining stoic; now, in these crucial next moments – she was poised to regain command of her position.

Winter had been correct when she deduced that Leia had timed her acquiescence to an inquiry with the impending Senate recess; despite the frenzy of activity and the chaos of politicking, hardly any delegates had wanted to remain in emergency session to continue bickering over the trials and tribulations of Leia Organa – not when they were all coming out of the grueling, harrowing process of fortifying the structure of their new Republic.

Leia's chronological planning had been as complex as her political scheming – she had tried to orchestrate things so that the crux of the Media circus would combust right around the time the Senate dismissed – she had also aligned her inquiry with that, to the best of her abilities, and so the worst of it raged and swirled while the worst of her political threats were dealt with –

In moments of clarity and honesty with herself, she admitted that, despite her preparedness, the repercussions of her revelation had stifled her, angered her – pushed her towards a breaking point regardless of the serenity she strove for, and she had reached her limit around the same time she had been cleared –

And as the Senate disbanded for vacations, for breathers, for delegates to recoup, lick their wounds, murmur over and analyze what had just happened to one of the saints of the Rebellion – Han coaxed screams of anger and pent-up emotions out of Leia, and the Media was been left with a void of politics, and only increasingly stale sensationalist stories to circulate.

There came a point – and she had known there would, despite Han's doubts, and Luke's concerns – when the Media apparatus began scraping the bottom of the barrel when it came to pernicious reporting; anything that could have been said about Leia had already been said – any disgraced, imprisoned Grand Moffs who could be interviewed and given a platform to spew vitriol ran out of gossip and lies – and any member of the political intelligentsia knew that once the press began to recycle the juiciest bits of a scandal, the scandal was well on its way to the graveyard – the fire, so to speak, burning down to ash.

She had operated within that turn of the cycle – with all serious governing statecraft on hold, Leia had gradually stepped back into her role as diplomat, first and foremost catching up on missed work while still being intensely visible in her Alderaanian Council duties – as the firestorm died down, she re-cultivated the relationships she had valued, focusing first and foremost on her oldest friends and allies – beings like Admiral Ackbar, men like Crix Madine – those who had not been privy to her background previously, and had harbored mild doubts and anxieties after it was revealed.

She focused on those who had always been her friends and allies, rather than diving headfirst into the swamp of people who had always been and odds with her, whether ideologically, in some way, or personally, for some reason or another, and wasting time courting those who were eager to be persuaded of her treachery.

The interim between Senate sessions by no means diminished the news cycle, it merely guaranteed less of a focus on politics – and despite how alluring the personal lives of public figures could be, they hardly held much water when they weren't able to be tacked on to certain laws or agenda, and so day by day, as there was no real new political news to report, and no new information emerging on Leia's Vader connection – the backlash of it all faded, faded,  _faded_  – into a dull, constant hum and murmur, rather than new, screeching alarms broadcasted to steal the spotlight.

_The Skywalker Reckoning_  – that is what it came to be called, and Leia let it be so – through the whole ordeal, she had re-hashed her private battle with her bloodline, and experienced, as an outsider, watching the public cope with her revelation, what it was like to grapple with the whole thing – she supposed Skywalker was her given name, somewhere, far in the past, and so she had reckoned with it, and confronted it – it was the finishing touch on a personal journey, and she could face entirely forward now –

Entirely forward.

With her, in her Senate pod, sat her assistant Tavska, ever faithful and serene, as well as Chewbacca – still concerned with her security at Han's behest, and making a statement on behalf of Kashyyyk – Evaan Verlaine sat with her as well, eschewing her usual place at Bail's side to reinforce the Alderaanian support for Leia.

As for her father – Bail held court in his pod, the trusted Viceroy, with Carlist Rieekan taking Evaan's usual place at his side – and across the grand arena, Leia could easily spot Naboo's senatorial pod, where Pooja headed the delegation with a stern, defiant expression on her face, backed by two junior senators, Naboo's elected Princess of Theed – visiting Coruscant for the first time – and Ruwee Naberrie, who had returned to Coruscant specifically to witness what this opening would be like.

Leia gave a quiet nod across the arena to her cousin, and then fixed her eyes again on the central raised dais, where Mon Mothma's hand-selected Vice Presidents sat calmly awaiting her arrival –

The session would not begin until she arrived to authorize it, and in her absence, there was the usual quiet buzz of scheming conversation – Leia was well aware she was the center of most of it, and she took great care not to bat an eyelid.

She had been unable to comfortably predict what she was going to face this morning – there was a chance the efforts to oust her from her position could be rekindled; there was a chance it was all over, and she could move forward – she had little indication of what Mon Mothma's position on the whole thing was, and she was unsure if any of the more radical factions had been appropriately placated – systems such as Onderon and Kalzeron still found her background repugnant, never mind that it had never influenced her morality – and Imperial sympathizers still hoped to somehow associate themselves with her enough to scare away her liberal supporters.

It was, as always, a never-ending game – one she still, inexplicably, wanted to win – not for the sake of her own power, but for the power of the people.

A low, musical tone rumbled through the auditorium, and the muted conversations fell silent – in the moment the Chief of State began ascending to her podium, Leia turned her head slightly, casting a glance over her shoulder, searching the stands for her father.

He was looking right at her, his expression unwavering, and encouraging, as proud and regal as it had been the day she won her first Senate race, the day she graduated university – all her life.

That, for the time being – was all she needed.

She turned back to face the center of the arena, so that when Mon Mothma spoke, Leia was focused on her.

"Senators, Delegates, Ministers, and Ambassadors of the New Republic," the Chief of State greeted – her tone was mellow, the exact balance of calm and commanding that was so unique to Mon Mothma, and so quintessential and a charismatic leader.

She inclined her head.

"I welcome you all back to the Senate to convene yet another governing session under the auspices of our New Republic," here, she gave a small, wry pause: "We are getting good at this, are we not?" she quipped.

Leia gave a mild, half smile as polite laughs and murmurs of approval circulated through the arena.

"With small amounts of good fortune and large quantities of determination, I hope this session will see us move towards constructing our legacy as we simultaneously move away from cleaning up the past."

Mon Mothma inclined her head respectfully, and held her hand out to the left, requesting a ceremonial gavel – which was placed in her hand immediately by an aid. She looked around regally, smiled, and Leia flicked her eyes upwards to watch her projection on the large screens as Mon Mothma flicked the gavel and opened the government.

Immediately, the ring of a request bell reverberated around the arena, signaling a delegation's desire to speak.

Mon Mothma sat back, examined her console for the appropriate light, and toggled it, granting the floor with a swift, kind nod of her head.

For a hushed moment, the holocameras panned the crowd as the speaker moved forward in their pod, and Leia waited for the source of the buzzer, her breath bated as she relaxed into the aura around her and tried her hand at sensing the overarching mood of her peers –

She withdrew, as the harsh, grating voice of the Minister from Onderon burst through his amplifier, causing a brief, sharp squeal of feedback before his words came through:

"I move for a vote of no confidence in Ambassador Organa," he proposed, his voice rough, his expression narrow.

The eruption of hissing whispers was immediate, and there was silence for a moment before a flicker of speaking lights lit up, and a female voice echoed through her amplifier –

"On what  _grounds_ , Prime Minister?" Pooja's demanded coolly, violating rules of procedure when she did not wait to be granted the floor.

The Senate mediator silenced Pooja's amplifier swiftly, and turned a stern look on her, while the Minister from Onderon drew back his teeth in a snarl and fixed a cool glare on the Naboo delegation, inclining his head sardonically.

"Ambassador Organa has been dishonest," he began stiffly, "she has misled us in regards to her background. She possesses the power of the Sith and is aligned by blood with the Imperial Darth – "

"Princess Leia was cleared of corruption by a carefully selected jury, many of whom were hostile to her," again Pooja spoke without regard for the rules, her tone aggressive and calm. "Your callous attempt to dredge all of this – "

"Forgive me, Senator Naberrie, if I am less than persuaded by the biased word of the Ambassador's newly discovered," his lips drew back, "cousin," he spat, and then turned to the center podium: "Mediator, if you will please remind Miss Naberrie of procedure."

" _Senator_ ," Pooja corrected curtly. "Senator Naberrie."

The Mediator stood and raised her hands, a neutral expression on her face – before she made any remarks, though, Mon Mothma stood slowly, reached out, and placed a hands out, palms up, calling for calm, and silence.

She received it – and Leia watched her curiously, her jaw set tightly – the trajectory of her career now hung in the balance; the galactic reaction to this would define how they moved forward now.

Was she fated to be mired in this forever, her career stalled, forced to resign her position and fight for something else or languish as a stagnant player? Or would her allies shake off the yoke of uncertainty and demand that there be an end to the constant, belligerent attacks on her person, and position –

Activating her amplifier carefully, Mon Mothma stepped forward, still holding her hands up, still waiting for extreme silence. As the beings around her settled, Leia watched them project the Chief of State's image onto the magnificent holoscreens, and waited – waited to hear what she would say.

Mon Mothma fixed her eyes in a specific direction and somehow, without glancing to verify, Leia knew she was looking at Bail Organa.

The Chief of State cleared her throat.

"There will be no more talk of removing Leia Organa Solo from her diplomatic post."

The image of Mon Mothma on the screen faded to one of Leia, and she tilted her head up, as if she hardly noticed that her visage was now larger than life, the focal point of every being in this sprawling venue – and all those watching all over the galaxy.

To occupy her mind, to keep her expression smooth and cool, Leia thought of her make-up, as she looked at her image out of the corner of her eye – she had taken impeccable care to ensure she looked nearly porcelain, for this very reason – dark lashes, elegantly painted lips, blushed cheeks – there were some who found power in wearing emotions on their sleeves; Leia was infamously composed, and relished that about herself – she was from a line of women who did not, for the life of them, appear disheveled or downtrodden in public.

Despite her countenance – at Mon Mothma's simple words, her heart stuttered – through her lashes, she stole a glance towards her long-time mentor, listening, as she went on –

"There will be no more motions entertained on this Senate floor regarding a lack of confidence in, or an impeachment of, Leia Organa Solo."

When Mon Mothma paused again, there was utter silence – complete silence, and still Leia's image stayed on the screen, while the Chief of State again let her words linger on the floor, daring any to break into what promised to be an inspiring soliloquy. Though it hardly meant anything to the others, Leia took particular note of Mon Mothma twice using her married name, calling her  _Solo;_  it was as if Mon was acknowledging that in a subtle gesture of apology for all the other mistakes she'd made in dealing with Leia.

She lowered her hands, folding them in front of her demurely, and gave a thoughtful tilt of her head, before beginning to speak:

"Should Princess Leia choose to run for office in the future, galactic citizens are free to place their votes as they wish. Free to speak in the form of their votes. Free to exercise the franchise as they see fit – thanks to a costly, bloody war during which Princess Leia herself sacrificed much in order to secure victory."

Mon Mothma took a serene deep breath, lifting her head – the holos were back on her for a moment, and Leia met her eyes in proxy, gazing at the projection image.

"As it stands, you intelligent, gracious beings have elected me; you have trusted me with the governance of this galaxy – and in placing that trust in me, you have conferred on me the responsibility of diligently appointing my key cabinet members and advisors."

She looked around pointedly, her expression simultaneously soft, and armored.

"Know that I unequivocally trust Princess Leia. I have known her since she was a young girl, barely cutting her teeth on politics and attempting to reconcile a passionate desire for revolution with her people's cherished tradition of passive resistance. I was with her during the Rebellion's most dire hours, dark moments when we thought all was lost, and still she held her head high, and resolved to fight."

Mon Mothma took a deep breath.

"I cannot control the press commentary regarding Ambassador Organa's revelation. As you have seen, freedoms of speech and expression have not been curtailed, and will not be curtailed, not under this democratic government, not even when those freedoms disadvantage the so-called elite. Instead, in light of such freedoms, I will politely ask you to consider the value of a leader who has made public a private family tragedy, and with that an unsavory connection that she in no way has any power to change – who has been honest despite the threats that she knew would hang over her political career – who has set aside ambition in favor of transparency – who has stood stoic while she is berated with inane gossip, baseless conspiracy theories, and downright vile insinuations," here, Mon Mothma's pause quick, and her tone sharpened:

"I ask you to consider the value of a leader who has endured all of which I illustrated here today, and yet has not once wavered in her belief in fundamental sentient freedoms."

Mon Mothma stopped for a long moment. She was quiet, in an intimidating silence, for what felt like an eternity, and then she turned to look at Leia, her line of sight unmistakable – and once again, Leia's image was on the screens, her reaction availably for intense scrutiny.

"Princess Leia," she began firmly – sincerely. "I offer you my sincerest apologies for not speaking on your behalf sooner. I showed cowardice in the face of your unabashed strength."

Leia held her gaze for a long time, acutely aware that the galaxy was watching her. Her heart stuttered against her ribs, and her mouth felt dry – she bit the inside of her lip to keep her expression steady – she was quiet, and stunned, truly taken aback. She knew there were some who thought she had coordinated a response with Mon Mothma – but that was one thing she had not done.

The silence from Mon Mothma had been one of the few things that cut deeply, and yet Leia had tried to understand her old mentor's precarious position.

Now, she swallowed hard, and nodded very slowly – and she sat up straighter, her lips compressed lightly, and lifted her hand. She touched her fingertips to her brow, and then demurely held her hand out, palm up, towards Mon Mothma in a galactic sign of peace.

Mon Mothma immediately returned the sign, and an ocean of murmurs rumbled through the arena – and Leia held her breath, unable to look away from the Chief of State – unwilling to see the reactions as the holo panned around the masses.

Mon Mothma cleared her throat crisply.

"Should any of you take umbrage with what I have said here today, I kindly remind you of the chance you have to vote me out in the next elections – again, that coveted vote you were awarded by the battles of a grueling insurrection. In closing, I would say – remember that good leaders are a rarity; they are a privilege – and to abuse them so callously, so flippantly, for the sake of circumstances beyond their control – is a dark path to start down. It is easy to see sins in a leader. Perhaps we would all do well to consider what our own sins are before acting as a jury for another's."

She was quiet for a considerable amount of time, reflecting pointedly on her own words, allowing them to sink in – allowing them to be unforgettable.

"I hereby yield my time on the floor."

Her finale words were succinct, and so abrupt that the Senate was left reeling, as whispers and muted conversations filled the void of her powerful speech – and only as Mon Mothma sat down, did Leia realize she had been holding her breath – and she let it all out in a visible rush; out of the corner of her eye, she saw them put her back on the large projection screens as she turned to look at her father, and then turned to look at Evaan next to her.

The hum of thousands of voices continued, as Leia waited for the proverbial sword to swing down on her neck – what was next, what was –  _next_?

"Your Highness," murmured Evaan, reaching out to touch Leia's hand reverently. "Had you worked on that with Madam Mothma?" she looked over at the other woman admiringly. "It was a thing of beauty."

When Evaan asked her if she had orchestrated it, the full weight of Mon Mothma's gesture seemed to crash onto Leia's shoulders, and she felt tears spring to her eyes – she wordlessly shook her head, her lips still pressed together, unable to speak.

The chimes of a requesting bell rang out, and Leia blinked at her tears, tilting her head to hear the speaker - was she still on the monitor? – she couldn't tell, her vision was hazy.

She held her head up.

"The floor recognizes Senator Dretta of Corellia."

Leia tilted her head towards the sound.

"I move to re-open negotiations concerning refugees from planets decimated by the Imperial Remnant – Corellia  _cannot_  handle this burden alone."

Leia felt a pang in her chest when she heard how – mundane the motion was, how unconcerned it was with her parentage, or her brother, or her family – her corruption, her past, her future –

Somewhere in her haze, she heard another delegate confirm: "Seconded."

She grit her teeth – there was something –  _something_  about it being a Corellian who steered the conversation away from her sensational bloodline and back to the real issues – that got to her; she felt a kinship with the Corellians – perhaps she read too much into it, but then again, perhaps, because she loved one of their own, they loved her, too.

Leia lifted her eyes upwards, and turned to her side – this time, away from Evaan, and towards Chewbacca. The Wookiee held out his paw to place on her shoulder, and she smiled at him – the smile was a little too much of a demand on her careful composure, and she brought her hand up to her lips, blinking a few tears down her cheeks – and though it was subtle, it was the first public expression of emotion since her father's return that reminded the galaxy she was a living, breathing being.

* * *

Under normal – usual – circumstances, it would have been a hot day on Hoth before Han took leave of his military duties so that he could clear his schedule for politics. To take leave for leisure, for work on the  _Falcon_  – those were requests typical to Han Solo, but that he had left military headquarters late in the morning, with a gruff word to Rieekan's deputy explaining he was headed to Coruscant's political quarter was – unexpected, to say the least.

Of all the beings married to a partner with significant political, social, or economic power, he was perhaps the most reticent, and the most lacking in a desire for spotlight, or for favors – known for hiding from the press, rather than seeking it – and, though he himself resented it, he caused quite a stir when he walked in to the one of the New Republic's foremost Political Houses.

For the sake of the press he knew would be there, he kept his Alliance uniform on – open at the collar, to indicate he was off duty – and barely had to wait half a second to be given a somewhat private booth on one of the upper levels.

In solitude, and without anything more than a swift, gruff acknowledgment to the being that procured it for him, Han leaned back in the plush, gaudy booth, swung his feet up onto the table with little regard to how inelegant it looked, and sat back with an indecipherable expression on his face to watch the opening proceedings of this season's senatorial session.

Political Houses were a staple in the legislative district of Coruscant; they were elite, almost aristocratic organizations that existed to provide a gathering place for those with a vested interest in the governance of the galaxy. Mostly frequented by high ranking members of political parties, serious academics, maudlin philosophers, and the general intelligentsia of the galactic core, the Houses were intensely restrictive in terms of who entered – the establishments prided themselves on class and civil debate – and were furnished with high-resolution holo-screens that projected public government proceedings in any imaginable language.

Generally, the Houses required memberships, and memberships were rabidly sought after – as a rule, family members and staff of political officials were automatically granted access, usually because they desired to lobby for their side or garner favor with the press – this morning was the only time to date Han had ever utilized this privilege, and he was sure it would be the last.

He was well aware is presence was drawing considerable attention, though no one had dared approach him – and he was also well aware that he could have easily skulked back to the Embassy, or even to his and Leia's apartment, to watch her return to the floor – yet in a rare moment, he'd found he wanted to be visible.

He wanted people – important people – to see him front and center, ignoring the Media melee, out in the spotlight in obvious support of his wife. He could not have cared less about what treaties or policy changes the Senate would be discussing – he wanted to see Leia, and he wanted to watch their reaction to her after all these weeks and months of chaos.

He did not want to make the mistake – that he felt he had made several weeks ago, when he'd kept away from the Court proceedings, sanitized his intake of the results, and been completely unaware of what had happened when Leia came home and stumbled into the shower with him.

He had been there for Leia, he  _knew_  that – but after that incident, in the days following, he'd felt vaguely like he hadn't been there for her enough. He was sure Leia had no qualms about how he had handled any of this: she had always been adamant that she had married him because she loved him as he was, that she never had any expectations of him when it came to politics or involving himself in her ambitions, and yet for the past few days he had berated himself for not spending more time visibly at her side for all of this.

He had been there at the press conference – but he had never been at her side for inquiries, or during many of her public walks during which she was pressed for attention – it was always Bail with her, or Pooja – even Evaan, or Luke – and that was mostly her doing, because Leia was orchestrating a game in all of this, and she hadn't wanted Han subjected to pressures that would provoke him, or scrutiny that would be unfair to him.

Han hadn't objected to any of that because he hadn't wanted to – he hated politics, and he had hated the political world more as it became more adversarial towards her; following the lurid accusation whispered out of a prison by former Grand Moff Luschek and shouted at Leia on the courthouse steps, he had more than once bitterly suggested she tell them all to go fuck themselves once and for all.

She fought back against that hideous rumor, though, with all of her inner strength and grace, and as Han carried on in his own work as she had originally planned for him to do, he heard one too many whispered suggestion that he must be so distant from her public career lately –  _lately_ , as if he had ever been involved in it, other than to chagrin Mon Mothma with his interference with a marriage alliance – must be because he  _believed_  what had been said of her.

The mere suggestion had him damn near apoplectic with rage, and as he did not trust himself to actually speak with any of the press – he chose symbolic presence instead.

He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, easily managing to make his military attire look as relaxed and casual as his usual vest and bloodstripes. He fixed his gaze on the holo screens, attuned to the screen closest to his viewing box – a large, sparkling coloured image, connected to a speaker at his table; the sound came through in Basic, but the screen ran subtitles in the native language of whoever was speaking.

Unable to read Chandrilan, he had been aggressively focused on the speaker as Mon Mothma gave her long sermon; now, the sound faded to a low buzz in his ears as he watched the Corellian minister stand to speak, and effortlessly read his own native language on the screen.

It was startlingly quick, how abruptly Mon Mothma silenced the discord, how smoothly the topics of discussion were shunted towards other things – and Han's eyes lingered on the images long after Leia's countenance was abandoned for other speakers, seeing without seeing, grappling with a rough, simmering irritation at the Chief of State.

Had her diatribe in support of Leia carried the weight it had because so much time had passed, because the galaxy had its time to rip Leia apart first? Or had she had the power all along to demand this whole revelation be treated as what it was – immaterial to Leia's good work?

Han grit his teeth, his jaw set, and twitched one of his feet a little, crossing one booted ankle over the other.

The Viceroy had it in his head that Leia had coordinated a certain reaction for Mon Mothma; Han knew that she had not. Han knew Mon Mothma had expressly told Leia that she should not go public with the information, and he knew that Leia had been bothered by Mon's lack of immediate support.

He was unable to decide how he felt about her speaking out for Leia now.

Absorbed in watching the proceedings without really hearing them – he shifted slightly in his seat, failing to notice that he had been approached until –

"They let slime like you hang around these kinds of places?"

Han ripped his eyes from the holo and shifted, drawing one knee up defensively, prepared to swing his legs off the table and spring. His hand moved smoothly to his hip, and scraped at nothing – he clenched his knuckles, and immediately remembered he had removed his blaster from its usual home to carry it concealed at his lower back.

It wasn't needed, though – his fingers relaxed, and he lowered his knee a little, tilting his head with a stiff jaw, narrowing his eyes at none other than Lando Calrissian.

"Slime like me?" he quoted. He pointed sharply at his head, giving Lando a pointed look. "I'm the King of Alderaan," he drawled, deadpan. "Or d'you forget?" he asked, his tone taking on the slightest edge.

Lando laughed good-naturedly, and gave a mild wince; well aware of what Han was referring to – that now infamous photo that had so insulted Leia's aunt a year and a half ago.

Han sat forward, drawing his legs off the table, and gave a short glance around, brushing his knuckles under his chin as he looked back at Lando.

"I got privileges here, 'cause of Leia," he snorted. "You want to tell me how you swindled your way in?"

Lando swept his cloak du jour back and indicated a badge on the collar of his starched shirt, shiny and black and denoting membership in the circuit of Political Houses. Han looked skeptical, and Lando folded his arms with a wry shrug, arching his brows.

"Economic politics," he said coolly. "I got lobbying interests with some Senators, and business interests with gas miners," he reminded Han.

"Ah, yeah," Han grunted. "You're legitimate these days – wonder why I forget that," he quipped.

"Same reason I forget to call you Your Highness, I figure," Lando retorted.

Han smirked. Lando inclined his head.

"Care if I join you?" he asked.

Han leaned forward, gesturing carelessly at the empty seat across from him. He ran his hand over his jaw and shrugged, soundlessly indicating he didn't care – he hadn't expected to run into Lando here, but he wasn't at odds with him, and didn't mind company, now that he had witnessed Leia's reception from the Senate, and had a handle on how things might proceed for her now.

He watched Lando take a seat with an almost critical expression on his face, thinking of his old friend's part in all of this – of that pamphlet Luke and Leia had showed him, weeks ago, allegedly authored by Lando and distributed anonymously – and yet other than that, Lando had been off planet, or so it seemed; he certainly hadn't kept in touch particularly well since he had attended Han's wedding.

Rather than lean forward and mimic Han's stance, Lando leaned back, throwing one arm casually over the back of the seat, his other resting lazily on the empty table. He nodded down at the surface of it, and then jerked his head in the general direction of the bar area.

"Watching politics sober?" he probed. "Kest, you have changed."

He said it good naturedly, but tilted his head curiously at Han.

Han gave him a grim smile, and waved his hand at his uniform.

"Ain't supposed to drink in uniform," he muttered.

"Weren't they s'pose to take your rank back at some point after the war?" Lando joked. "They snatched mine away damn quick."

"You gave it back," Han retorted. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "Not enough money in it for you," he added smartly.

"Wouldn't have been for you either, back in the day," Lando said flippantly, shrugging. He lifted his brows smugly, and flashed a toothy grin at Han. "You don't do it for the money. You don't even do it to impress a Princess anymore, 'cause now she's just your wife," Lando smirked, and leaned forward, tapping his index finger on the table. "You do it for the right reasons. The Rebellion restored all your honor, eh?"

Han's expression hardly changed. He said nothing – he wasn't sure what to say. There were a hundred or so things he had done for Leia, and in many respects, remaining with the Rebellion for so long was one of them, enlisting was one of them, continuing to serve in the aftermath battles was one of them – but now? There was a sense of –  _honor_  – in it.

"You're decent now, Solo," Lando drawled. "Through and through."

"So're you," Han fired back curtly. He jerked his head at Lando pointedly. "Payin' taxes and creatin' charities and," he paused, narrowing his eyes, "publishing pamphlets tellin' people who ran their mouths about Leia to go to hell," he said pointedly.

Lando – stopped short of blushing, but looked a bit sheepish, and a bit bold, pointedly refusing to comment on that last remark when he answered –

"Hell," he swore. "You mean to tell me we're both decent?" he asked, feigning annoyance. "Means one of us has got to get the old rogue nature back – and since you got the reputation of House Organa hanging 'round your neck," he flashed a grin, "I guess it'll have to be me."

Han snorted.

"You ought to go back to your high stakes gambling ways, now that I'm not around to hand your ass to you at Sabacc."

Lando gave Han a mildly dark look.

"It's always too damn soon for cracks about losing the  _Falcon_ ," he griped, and Han sat back, his shoulders finally relaxing as he laughed – he never tired of reminding Lando about that sweeping victory, and Lando never failed to bristle and brood over it.

Lando gave him a narrow look, and flipped his hand over on the table, palm up to the ceiling. He tilted his head at Han.

"Both of us decent, eh?" he drawled, settling back on that subject. "When the hell did that happen?"

His shoulders pressed lazily back into the cushioned seat; Han shrugged, shaking his head. He lifted his arm and placed his hand behind his back again, rubbing his fingers against the nape of his neck – he tried to envision himself back in some cantina on some wasteland planet, on sharp alert for bounty hunters and scheming for his next move in life.

He lowered his hand and aimed it at Lando, finger and thumb extended in the shape of a makeshift blaster.

"I figure for me, the decency  _really_  locked in when a piece of shit threatened to behead my wife, and all I did was stun 'im and call the legal authorities on him," he drawled sarcastically.

He grit his teeth – there was still a fading cut above his eyelid from that fight – Rouge had been giving him something for it to keep it from scarring, an issue Han was not particularly concerned about, but Rouge seemed intent on preventing.

Lando grimaced, and nodded, his expression troubled.

"Yeah," he said gruffly, reaching up to run his hand over his jaw thoughtfully. "That was – somethin'," he shrugged. "I'd have – hmm," he trailed off. "Anyone comes after Tendra, and I'll," he trailed off again. "I ain't in your position, though," he muttered. "It'd be hell on Leia, if you took out vigilante justice, got locked up and taken away from her," he broke off yet again, and Han gave a harsh shrug.

"S'why I didn't kill 'im," he said bitterly, and Lando nodded again.

He pulled at the neck of his cape, and tilted his head, his lips turning up slowly.

"Y'know, we got more'n common than just being two old scoundrels who decided to shape up," he pointed out.

Han snorted and leaned back, bracing his boot against the table again.

"I'm a scoundrel," he said. "You're a retired thief."

Lando glared at him good-naturedly.

"What's the damn difference?" he groused.

Han shrugged.

"Winter says the word 'scoundrel' has charm to it," he drawled. "You ain't got charm."

Lando flicked his wrist sharply.

"More than you," he retorted, pressing his index finger and thumb together and miming writing in stylish, sweeping script. "Charmed a person or two with my little pamphlet."

Han said nothing, staring at Lando intently. He considered his old friend – and sometimes adversary – for a long time, and then tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing with determination.

"Uh-huh," he grunted. "You want to tell me what that was about?" he asked mildly.

He was interested to know – it wasn't that he had ever expected Lando to particularly care whom Leia was related to, but he had never anticipated him to be so integrally involve himself in the public fray over it. Lando's pamphlet may have been published anonymously, but to those who were privy to the events, it was obvious who the author had been.

Lando gave a short shrug.

"Whaddaya mean, what was it about?" he asked edgily. "You mad at me or somethin'? Think it was my way of," he smirked slightly, "sweet-talkin' her?"

Han actually laughed, and rolled his eyes before giving Lando a more pointed look.

"Nah," he said flatly. "It just doesn't seem like your thing, pal," he pointed out bluntly. "You like the spotlight," he said. "You like style – but bein' a, ah, uh," Han flattered frowning as he tried to find a word. "You aren't some – poet."

Lando ran a hand over his jaw. He grinned in his sparkling, almost predatory way, and shook his head, looking down for a moment. He looked back up, his expression tighter, more thoughtful.

"Look," he started, and then he cleared his throat, put his elbows on the table, and held up his hands pointedly. He gave a confident sort of sigh. "That's what I was gonna say, about you'n'I havin' more in common than a less than legal past," he snorted. "I meant Leia," he said dryly.

Han's eyes narrowed a little dangerously, and Lando waved his hand, rolling his eyes.

"Calm down, Han," he muttered. "I got my own girl," he reminded him. Lando flattened a hand on the table, and considered his words, his teeth clenched for a moment. "I had things turned around pretty good before you and Leia landed in Cloud City," he said. "You said it yourself – I was legit. But," Lando said sharply, "I was still a cheat," he said, "I did plenty of back dealings, and got myself plenty rich – I was runnin' Bespin, and but I could've been runnin' it better – and I cared about my own skin a little too much, in the grand scheme of things," he said stiffly.

He paused, and cleared his throat.

"I made that deal – handed you all over to the Empire – because I knew it would save my ass, and I'd promised the workers and all my vendors that Bespin was free of Imperial regulation, and I wanted to keep what I had goin' – I thought I didn't have to pick a side," he explained.

He sighed, reaching up to run both hands over his jaw roughly.

"What I put in that pamphlet was true," he said seriously. "All of it – Han, Leia stopped Chewie from strangling me because she thought they'd be able to stop Fett taking you, but it wasn't just that," he explained intently,  _"after_  that – after I took her and Luke to the rendezvous point, after the Rebellion took me into custody – when it was all said and done, Carlist Rieekan told me my verdict was up to Leia."

Lando cupped his hands pointedly, gesturing to punctuate his comments.

"She had my life in her hands," he said gruffly. "Chewie would have snapped my neck if she asked him to. Rieekan would have handed me to any bounty hunter," Lando shook his head. "She didn't. She didn't do anything you'd think someone would do after what I did – she's just not vengeful." Lando paused, and then sat back. "Or, she is, but she executes it in – the strangest, most infuriating ways I've ever seen. I mean – the Empire destroys her planet, and instead of picking off the children of officers to make them hurt like she has, she fights a legitimate resistance, and reinstates a democracy?"

Lando shook his head again, and leaned forward, gesturing behind him wildly at the screen – not even aware of if Leia was on it or not.

"That's a hell of a woman – a hell of a living being," he insisted. "I know I don't have to tell you that, of all people, you worship the kriffin' ground she walks on – but other people should, too," Lando snapped, "and that's why I wrote what I wrote, if you can't figure that out," he explained. "She made me a better person," he said. "It always sounds stupid, when people say shit like that, but in this case it happens to be true – you can't be around a woman like that and  _not_  be decent."

Lando swallowed hard, and leaned back, shrugging with finality.

"She's the kind of person who  _should_  be runnin' the show," he said gruffly. "I owed it to her."

Han stared at him for a long time, taken aback by the ferocity. His foot slipped off the table a little, and he rested both feet on the floor, just considering Lando with an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment, he looked up at the screen behind Lando's head – the language scrolling along the bottom was something indecipherable to him, and the image on screen was a Twi'lek – from the speaker next to him, in Basic, he caught the word –  _Alderaan_.

Lando gave a heavy, bitter sigh.

"She's taken a lot of shit, hasn't she?" he muttered grimly.

Han shifted his eyes back. His expression darkened bitterly, and he grimaced, shaking his head at the thought of all Leia had put up with. He leaned forward and rested his elbows stiffly on the table, digging the bones into the hard surface, and Land arched his brows.

"How's it been?" he asked. "Death threats, and livin' with her old man, all the flak?"

Han bent forward and rubbed his forehead with his palm. He hung his head tiredly, gave a mild, resigned groan, and for a moment, rested his head down on the table, lifting it moments later to rub the heels of his hand hard against his temple.

"Fuckin' nightmare," he confessed sourly. "Not Leia," he clarified. "Not really her family, either," he mumbled, lowering one hand and continuing to rub his jaw with the other. "The whole - reaction," he spat, gesturing around vaguely.

Lando nodded, a distasteful expression on his face.

"Most of the galaxy's full of pricks," he said. "Bunch of beings with sticks up their asses who think they got no skeletons in their closets."

Han snorted, his shoulders sagging. He was somewhat relieved to let his guard down a little around Lando – he didn't spend much time bothering Luke with his feelings on the past few months, because Luke was embroiled in the middle of it – and he'd personally asked Chewbacca to focus more on Leia, so he'd avoided talking too much to him as well. It was easy to sit here and rag on the rest of the world with Lando – they'd always been men with chips on their shoulders, anyway.

Hunched over the table, Han shrugged.

"I don't know how Leia does it," he said dryly. "I'd have told them all to go to hell weeks ago."

Lando shrugged.

"S'like I said," he said stubbornly. "She's better than most. And if she can act like she does despite all that bantha shit, so can we," Lando said ' _we'_  – but he implied reference to the galaxy as a whole.

Han blinked shortly.

"I know that," he snapped.

"I know you know that," Lando retorted. He shrugged. "The two of you need a break," he said heavily. He looked around behind him for a moment, and both he and Han saw Mon Mothma on the screen. "Looks like it all might start to die down – or take a different route, after that speech," he muttered.

He turned back to Han, and cocked a brow.

"You ought to bring her out to Bespin," he said, cracking a sly smile. "I'll reserve you the best suite in Cloud City – real private, real good view," he bribed. "Rekindle the romance you had there, eh?"

Han looked at him blankly for a moment, and then snorted in disbelief.

"I figure you mean well, Lando, but I think all Leia thinks of when it comes to Bespin is me bein' tortured," he said dryly. "Come to think of it, so do I."

Lando winced, and bowed his head apologetically. He looked up, closing one eye and studying Han critically.

"Er – right," he agreed. "The past is – the past."

Han shrugged roughly.

"Your debt's been paid, buddy," he said simply.

He brushed his knuckles under his chin tiredly and shrugged again.

"I am gonna take her away somewhere," he said, half to himself. "When this really dies down," he paused, and shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "I'd pay a hell of a lot for all this to just be over," he growled under his breath.

Lando nodded grimly, silent in his agreement. He took a deep breath and looked around – Han was still drawing attention, the holos were still on – it was all very surreal, in a way.

"Well, maybe it almost is," Lando said flatly. "That speech Mon Mothma gave was pretty damn good, I reckon," he offered.

Han bristled silently, his jaw tightening – he bit his tongue for a moment, his throat locking up angrily – it irked him that it was perhaps Mon Mothma's gracious speech that would turn the tide for Leia; as much of a relief as it was that this might all start to plateau, he resented Mon Mothma bearing none of the brunt of it, and then sweeping in as the savior.

He snorted.

"Pretty damn good," he agreed, raising his voice with an edge, "for a woman who should have said it three months ago," he drawled. "Ain't my place to judge, though – I guess all that Media backlash seems pretty scary when all you did during the war was make plans from a safe house."

Lando gave Han a mildly scandalized look, glancing over his shoulder.

"You know someone could hear you," he muttered. "Run that as a sound bite."

Han shrugged roughly – he figured that was his right. He hadn't run his mouth to the press at all – and perhaps he should have done more. He reflected on that again – sure, Leia had wanted him to keep his privacy, and to be the person she sought solace in outside of the spotlight, but Lando had been more public in his defense – all Han had done was –

He abruptly stopped berating himself, hearing Chewie's stern growl in his ears – if the Wookiee were here, he'd tell Han that he'd done enough; he'd just loved Leia, and  _that_  was what she needed from him.

Still – Han doubted his irritation at Mon Mothma would fade – Leia had been on the front lines of the war, she'd been subjected to worse in terms of trauma, and she'd come out just as clean as Mon Mothma – cleaner, even, because she'd fought along side the foot soldiers she gave her orders to; she did the same work they did – she saw them die, and held their hands when they were scared, and faced the ire of the leadership and the laymen equally when decisions were unpopular.

Han shrugged again, as if to punctuate his thoughts, and Lando grinned, clearing his throat.

"Maybe someone's already heard," he said under his breath, jerking his head to the side.

Han turned his head, and a mild look of wariness came over his face when he found himself looking at Evaan Verlaine. He expected her to be glaring at him, having somehow already heard he was bad-mouthing the Chief of State in an elite establishment – but instead she was giving him a sort of unreadable, soft look.

She looked at him silently a moment longer, and then glanced over at the holo screen. Han looked over, too, and saw that Leia was speaking again, her lips moving gracefully, and her face calm, and determined.

"Princess Leia heard you were here," Evaan said politely, folding her arms in front of her for a moment. She winked. "One of the couriers ran up to the Senate and told an intern. The intern told Tavska. Tavska told Her Highness," Evaan spread her hands out, and gestured at herself.

Han blinked a few times.

"She want me to leave?" he asked neutrally.

Evaan shook her head.

"No," she said softly, her voice thoughtful. She grinned, and reached into her pocket, pulling out a shimmery blue holo-film – one of Leia's quick-note documents, on which she left notes to remind herself of things. "She wanted me to give you this."

Evaan held out the note, and after a moment of amusement, Han took it, glancing at her, and then over at Lando.

Lando snorted.

"Your wife's passing you love notes, Han," he drawled.

Han ignored him, pressing his fingerprint into the coded access on the holo note – out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evaan smile wryly, and slip away. Glancing up at the holo one more time – in time to see Leia sit back, her commentary finished, and lower her head to listen to some remark Tavska made in her ear – Han read the words she'd written into the holo note.

_I know you're there for me. I love you. Thank you._

Han looked at the words for a moment, and then wiped the image, tucking the holo note into a pocket on his uniform jacket – and he smirked a little, swinging his feet up on the table again, and leaning back casually –

He was here, and he'd be here when the Senate broke – he'd convince Leia to take the rest of the day, and come decompress on the  _Falcon_  with him – and hell, if any of the press wanted a quote from him, maybe he'd give 'em a word or two.

* * *

The activity in Leia's office had been vigorous since her return to work – and vigorous was exactly what she had desired. Her first few days fully restored to New Republic duties emulated the first few days that had dragged by when she first made her historic announcement – she waited, and prepared; steadily, but with surety, she began to regain her footing – and then, almost all at once, a flurry of activity ignited the beginning of a return to normalcy.

Normalcy – perhaps was not the correct word; her public image was irrevocably changed. Time would only tell if said image was damaged, or if it was just fleshed out and made fuller, more multi-dimensional and dynamic – but it was very clear, simply in the tone of how old colleagues slowly resumed business with her, that she was no longer viewed as the tragic little soldier-Princess in white who was trying to hold together a fading dynasty by carrying it into the new era.

Leia had always been taken seriously – give or take a few early years, when she'd been a newly minted Senator, and a teenager at that, who hadn't quite learned how different the galactic senate was from quiet little Alderaan – she had never been meek enough to be a background figure, directed and intimidated by others, but there had always been places where she sometimes had to fight for respect harder than others. Planets where women weren't considered valid as leaders, planets that considered her a lesser ruler because she wasn't a blood relative of her aristocratic family – even planets that did not afford her a high level of attention because she had not married yet – or planets that did not want to fully commit to her plans and treaties because they felt Alderaan, pacifist as it was, would never hold to them if it all came down to use of Force – regardless of all of the obstacles, Leia had always been mostly successful, and if not universally respected – absolutely well-known, and acknowledged to have influence.

The subtle changes now revolved around not merely who she was biologically related to, but how she had handled it, how diverse her possible influences were, and how her position of power had survived despite the absolute chaos surrounding it – personally, Leia had felt too mature for her age since the day she turned thirteen, and her mother took all of her coloured clothes and replaced them with white, tied up her hair in statuesque styles and never let her wear it down in public again - but in terms of her career, it had been in adolescence throughout the war, as she tried to find her footing and where she best belonged – and it had still been maturing, and reaching its niche, throughout these hard times after the war – it was only now that she ultimately realized her setbacks were worth it; her career was most likely established for good.

She relished the influx of activity that began as her colleagues – former allies, and some former adversaries – began to reignite dealings with her; she was gracious but cautious with them, and particularly with ones who she had been disappointed to see step back, and wait it out, rather than stand by her side, she was somewhat distant. She made a concentrated effort to illustrate that she was not one to forget her friends in difficult times, but she also infused a subtle coolness into the relationships that she intended to maintain for a bit, if only to remind them that they had been quick to abandon her, and that was trust broken that could not automatically be restored.

She had worked out a careful system to set her office back on track, pouring over it for days with Tavska, Pooja, her father, and Evaan to ensure that it seemed calculated, and also fair. Those who had never wavered were given prime opportunities to meet with her and get former projects and issues that had been on hold re-started and in the works; those who had gone politely silent, but had never been outright detractors, were given a slight amount of pushback by her office, but eventually granted access, and Leia was kind, but cool to them – others who reached out, from Onderon to Kalzeron to the more outright, Imperial-sympathizing, were treated cordially, but without much urgency – Leia was especially harsh specifically to Onderon, because it had always been a Rebel home world, and so their betrayal cut deeper than any Imperial-Sympathizing system that never could have been trusted anyway.

Luke and Han made incredulous – in Han's case, pissed off and caustic – remarks about the people she was dealing with who had been outright Imperials, who had delighted in her struggles from the beginning – but Leia, grimly accepting of the way the political game worked, pointed out that those individuals had picked the losing side in a grueling round of statecraft Smashball, and though Leia was perfectly comfortable hanging that over their respective heads, and ensuring that they felt consequences in terms of frustrated attempts to meet with influential people, she did not wish to isolate them so entirely that they became violent. Tangential to that, she was well aware that on many planets, the average citizen cared less about what the federal elite was up to, and much more about if their home, hearth, and children would be safe, and taken care of, and Leia knew that the leaders of these places would be voted out when she showed mercy, and they gave her nasty remarks and stubborn refusals to do the right thing instead, thus damaging their place in the galactic order.

She sat back in her office chair, sinking into the soft, malleable leather cushion slowly and letting out a calm, thoughtful sigh – tilting her head back, she blinked slowly a few times, soothing the dry, achy burn that had started to plague her eyes as she stared for hours about hours at holo film and her bright console, consulting endless documents.

She compressed a small smile, holding her eyes lightly closed for a moment – she liked that little burn in her eyes she felt when she had been at work too long without a break; she had missed it – it was a nuisance, but it was something that kept her determined, reminded her of what good work she was doing, and the things she wanted to accomplish – and for too long, over the past two months or so, her eyes had only burned with angry, tired tears – and this sort of ocular exhaustion was the good kind.

She tilted her head back down and blinked a few more times, gazing vaguely at her screens – her work this week had consisted of negotiating a peace between two constantly warring cultures in the heart of the Western Reaches – or, rather, setting up meetings with the leaders to begin negotiating peace – aiding in the creation of trade policies between three systems that historically hated each other, yet needed each other's resources – and in the past had taken to hiring smugglers to steal each other's resources, which was damaging the overall galactic price and causing far too much innocent bloodshed –

" _I've worked that network before,"_  Han said blithely, one afternoon when he'd unexpectedly asked her what she was doing – Han rarely asked her what she was working on, unless something on the holos caught his eye – and when Leia asked him, tongue-in-cheek, what he thought the best solution was, he answered, like the scoundrel he was –  _"Tell them to give the smugglers access to healthcare. I got bit by somethin' on one of those runs and Chewie sewed me up."_

Leia bit her lip, smiling to herself as she thought about that conversation – because Han had drawled on, charming and seductive –  _"Still got the scar, Sweetheart, come kiss it – "_   _"It's the scar on your elbow, Han,"_  she'd said pointedly, while he gestured at his hips –  _"Yeah, yeah, but it hurts down here – "_

She wondered what he was up to today – he had told her this morning he wasn't checking in at military headquarters, but rather meeting with Lausta and some of the other Alderaanian intelligence officers to determine if their home was safe to return to. They were both restless - and Han thought, since Mon Mothma's speech seemed to have calmed the politics a little, they might try to get everything back on order.

Even if it wasn't safe, Leia had quietly made the decision that they were going to return to it anyway – and Han would likely be easily persuaded. No physical attacks on her had actually been attempted during this whole time, and though it was confirmed that the location of their place had been leaked, whether or not it was a target was difficult to determine, as the entire population of Coruscant was well aware that she and Han were currently staying at the heavily fortified Alderaanian Embassy.

Leia felt – quite strongly - that she could not really begin to look at all this as a thing she had overcome until she and Han were back in their own home, living freely in their own space despite any lingering threats and shadows – while she was sequestered in her father's home, she would still feel as if she were hiding, trapped in a sort of suspended animation – she needed her space back, she needed to continue aggressively in a forward direction; it was the only way to keep progressing, and avoid getting bogged down in any lingering pettiness and vicious personal attacks.

Of which, naturally, there were still many – the caveat at this point was that there was very little new territory left; the worst of the worst rumors had already been concocted and distributed, the most outlandish of conspiracy theories were already out there, and what circulated now were re-hashes with tweaked details, or increasingly grotesque commentary from fringe networks or truly bitter, harmful pockets of Leia's detractors that attempted to regain the HoloNet news cycles with sheer malice.

It was, blessedly, unsuccessful in almost all regards.

Since Mon Mothma's sweeping remarks on the matter, the fire had been doused – only the true fanatics still tried to light it, and let it rage.

As for Mon Mothma – her person, and her remarks – other than her public expression of thanks during the Senate Session, Leia had not made an effort to privately thank her old mentor – and she did think of her as a former mentor at this point. Realistically, she had graduated from Mon Mothma's tutelage the moment she broke faith, so to speak, to marry Han instead of a high ranking political ally, but in terms both personal and professional, she was unequivocally Mon Mothma's equal even in the Chandrilan woman's eyes, and that was a strange state of affairs. It was not – certainly not – that Leia had ever been looked down upon by Mon, or felt as of Mon did not respect her or think highly of her, but there had always lingered a natural element of – Mon Mothma being the older, wiser woman, who could possibly pave Leia's career path for her when her Organa name no longer could – and all remnants of that were obliterated.

Leia sensed now that Mon Mothma recognized her as a fully realized equal – she sensed Mon Mothma's humble acceptance of that, and she expected the Chief of State had come to the realization that Leia would run against her at some point if it was the right time. It was to Mon's credit that she bore no grudge for that; if that time ever came, it would be a friendly rivalry – Mon Mothma had faced some introspection herself when Leia had married Han; she had faced even more, recently, when Leia broke with her own tradition and did not, as she had in the past, placate critiques of Mon Mothma, or explicitly downplay what was a clear, somewhat betrayal, and a statement of defense given with glaring tardiness.

It was true that Mon's hard-hitting speech had been poignant, and perhaps even politically strategic; Leia never could have said those things herself, it would have looked insincere and like she was cracking under pressure – or making veiled threats – and Mon's saying it after such a long silence was unique, and caught plenty of attention, and yet Leia received it professional with gratitude, and personally with slight coolness.

Mon Mothma had been one of Leia's political heroines from a very young age, and she had been hurt by the elder woman's silence, regardless of politics; Leia was a woman who had personally faced tense issues when it came to private relationship going public, and though she had dreaded certain effects on her career, she had never once let the Media denigrate Han in her presence, or make false claims against him – she had expected, at the very least, the same thing from her own close friends and family.

It was why, when Tavska came to her warily and told her that when he had come to the Political Houses to watch Leia's debut back in the Senate, Han had loudly made a remark about Mon Mothma that had been indeed overheard – and published – Leia had given a small shrug, and merely told Tavska to let it run. She made no comment to downplay it, and she made no comment to offer solace to Mon Mothma.

Han had said –  _I guess all that Media backlash seems pretty scary when all you did during the war was make plans from a safe house_ – and Leia smiled a little bitterly, and let it stand, because Han was right, and Han had done so much for the Rebellion even when he wasn't paid for it, even when he wasn't part of it, and Leia felt he had every right to take a few digs at a woman who had frequently made him seem inconsequential, and not good enough. She told Tavska – Han had earned the comment, and she wanted to let Han be her mouthpiece in that regard. Leia would not outright snub Mon Mothma, but she would let Han have his chance to do so, and her lack of comment on it would hopefully send a message.

And it had – Mon Mothma and Leia developed an understanding, though it was a tacit understanding; Mon understood Leia's reasons for letting Han speak without checking him, and she humbly accepted the critique; when asked about it, she had responded in a neat little press release that  _General Solo was invaluable in more than one instance during the war, and is correct that I spent much of it in the safe houses_  – she said almost nothing else, and because of that, Leia considered them mostly even – if only because she knew, in the future, Mon Mothma would never make the wrong move in this sort of situation again.

Brushing her fingers under her jaw, Leia leaned forward, to minimize some of the work on her console and peek at the image she was currently using as the shimmery background – she was sure Han would be mortified if he knew – yet she grinned to herself, because one other lovely thing that had come out of Han's out of character little trip to the Political Houses was a holo – soon to be considered fairly iconic, she was sure – taken of him watching the opening of the Senate session. He was leaned back in one of the luxury booths, boots up on the table, military uniform open at the neck, hair wind-swept – it damn well looked like a posed catalogue shot, and though Luke had seen it, and the captions and gawking that went with it, and immediately tried to laugh Han out of home and hearth, Leia loved it.

She specifically asked Tavska to find her a personal copy to keep.

Leaning forward to study the image more closely, her lips pursed in amusement, Leia had the obnoxious, intrusive thought –  _at least the Media is good for something._

She just as swiftly shook that thought off – too soon; it was too soon after all of the hateful commentary, to start giving credit to the rancors that called themselves journalists.

Things were still – settling. All in all, the immediate aftermath of it all had plateaued, and the social and political zeitgeist that would exist for Leia from this point on was – solidifying.

She took a deep breath and turned to her desk, just as there was a soft knock on her office door – which was left cracked open a miniscule amount – and she took it for what it was: the beginning of the end of her day. She sat up straighter, selected a few programs that would classify and secure all of her work for the day, and began system shut-downs – then, she lifted her head, and called –

"Come in, Tavska."

Her assistant did, neatly closing the door behind her and giving a subtle, respectful incline of her head. She held her hands gracefully in front of her, palms flat, balancing a tablet on her fingertips, and was silent for a moment, waiting politely for Leia to look up from her consoles.

Leia did, and offered her a calm smile.

"Summary time, is it?" she asked.

At the end of each week, Tavska provided a concise summary of what important events that had taken place – whether they be appearances she had agreed to, treaties she had achieved, or particularly significant Senate achievements that she was privy to. Tavska also compiled a list of things she may have missed, issues of lesser importance that Leia still needed at least a working knowledge of. It was one of Tavska's most invaluable services, and Leia rather looked forward to it.

Even more so now, as it was the first summary Tavska would give her that was not wholly consumed with slander, gossip, and libel.

"A custom I am eager to resume," Tavska said smoothly, her lips turning up slightly. "Shall I begin?"

Leia leaned back and waved her hand, nodding solemnly – and Tavska cleared her throat.

"Major advances of note include: the reopening of the Senate for the final session of the year; The Chief of State's statement of support in your favor, which disallows further motions to remove you if such motions are rooted solely in dissatisfaction with your relationship to Vader – re-certification of the military fleet contract with Mon Calamari builders, as well as significant progress in the debates regarding by whom scientific ethics laws will be written – the Senate voted to recognize dual citizenship in the case of Alderaanians wishing to settle permanently on new homeworlds, and sole Alderaanian citizenship of those who want to settle on Yavin, when the time comes – "

Tavska continued in her soothing, mellow voice, illustrating what had happened over the past week – in many ways, nothing monumental had occurred; in terms of the weeks Leia had weathered in the past, this one was mild – but it meant so much, because it reflected a resurrection of her power to act, to be a part of the machine – to do her job, instead of try to keep her head above tarnishing waters.

"On an interesting note, a private charity firm on Naboo quietly donated a sum of money to the efforts in building the Haven on Yavin," Tavska murmured. "There's a memo notating that though they are aware the Organa coffers are more than enough to fund the project, the Botanical Society of Theed would like to provide its own finances for a monument to Queen Padmé Amidala," Tavska paused, forwarding the memo to Leia's accounts. "The request specifies that the late queen was a champion of conservation during her reign, and Naboo would be honored to have her remembered as your mother and a warrior against the Empire in a memorial to Alderaan."

Leia blinked in surprise. She inclined her head.

"Of course," she murmured. "I'll make the necessary overtures to Rouge and put Pooja in touch with the appropriate financiers – that's lovely," she said slowly, unsurprised by Naboo's charity, but touched all the same.

"The very last point I have here regards Lausta and Miss Verlaine's investigation into Imperial archives," Tavska said neutrally. "Pursuant to Grand Moff Luschek, and his remarks."

Tavska's voice remained level, and yet because she knew her so very well, Leia detected a subtle disgust in the way she said remarks – and the almost invisible sneer that flitted across her lips as she closed them, and waited a moment.

Leia sat forward, compressing her lips. She leaned stiffly on her elbows, and waved her hand again, more heavily this time. She dipped her head grimly.

"There are false records," she guessed – a statement, not a question.

Her mouth felt dry for a moment, and she lost herself in a split second of horror – and how long before some foe dug them up and released them, and the galaxy could read lurid notes about her captivity –

Tavska shook her head simply.

"No, there are not," she answered, and Leia's lips parted in genuine surprise. Tavska let her words sink in for a moment, and then went on: "Lausta and Miss Verlaine, with the help of the small team of female intelligence officers you assigned, could find absolutely no written record, anywhere, that detailed your presence on the – Death Star – or in  _any_  type of prison. Lausta concluded that anything Luschek 'knew', he learned by word of mouth, or conceived of out of spite."

Tavska fell silent for a moment, and then folded her hands up fluidly, tucking her tablet against her leather vest, and inclining her head in a little bit of triumph.

"For once, it appears the Imperial penchant for outright lies and misinformation will help you breathe a little easier," she murmured. "Your imprisonment was so politically contentious, that any mention of you lists you as having died on Tantive IV in the so-called accident."

Her lips quirked up wryly.

"There are even a few notes that insist the Princess Leia who kept popping up with the Rebellion was a very uncanny imposter."

Leia swallowed hard, bowing her head for a moment, her lips moving in a silent prayer of relief. It was not so much – record of her violation, that she feared, but a doctored record, something that would seem like proof of what she had been accused of, and that would tear at her and shred her until she forced herself to discuss the reality, and at that point –

She shook her head, looking up.

"Thank you, Tavska," she said quietly, lowering her arms and folding them over each other as she leaned forward. "Thank you," she said again, mouthing the words rather than audibly speaking them.

Tavska inclined her head again.

Leia sat back in her chair thoughtfully, and ran a hand back through her hair, smoothing escaping strands back into the simple tiara braid she had conceived for the day. She was fading back into her thoughts, vaguely aware of Tavska turning to go – when Tavska spoke again, her voice quiet in the silence, and Leia was almost startled to realize the Togruta was still standing there.

"Your Highness," Tavska began in a humble, but sturdy, tone. "May I speak to you personally, one female to another?"

Taken aback, Leia straightened a little her attention sharpening. Tavska was unwavering in her professionalism, so competent and loyal, and because of that, Leia rarely considered her just an employee, but rather a safeguard who existed in the workplace – she was startled, she supposed, that Tavska felt the need to ask to speak informally.

She started to wave her hand, and then paused, deciding that would seem aristocratic, and insincere. Instead, she nodded, her expression softening.

"You needn't ask, Tavska," Leia assured her quietly. Her brow furrowed.

Tavska nodded. Still, she was quiet for what felt like an eternity, her eyes canted just so – in silent reflection, she wasn't quiet looking directly at Leia, until suddenly she was not, and her expression was calm, but fierce.

"It happened to me as well," she said candidly.

She paused, and Leia looked at her, unblinking.

"You remember my history?" Tavska asked.

Leia gave a silent nod – she did. Tavska had been a brilliant linguist, which an Imperial officer discovered when she pled with him in his native tongue, asking that her village be spared. He had not spared her village, but had enslaved her as a translator – she had spied for the Rebellion, been caught, and subjected to scientific experimentation in the Empire's Non-Human laboratories.

Throughout it all, she had never once betrayed a Rebel secret, and for that Leia had hired her without an interview.

"The officer who stole my from my village kept me protected, in the warped way that Imperials kept their lesser beings protected," Tavska said coolly. "When I was sent to the experimentation camps," she paused. "I was raped immediately."

Leia tilted her head imperceptibly, her gaze unwavering. She sat forward and placed her palms on her desk, flattening them gently. She knew enough from her own experience to sense that Tavska was not done speaking – and Leia would not interrupt until she was finished.

Tavska gave a detached incline of her head.

"He was a human male," she said artlessly. "It always struck me as strange," she went on, her lashes fluttering, "that the Imperials – they so hated non-Humans, were  _so_  convinced of our inferiority; they did not want to share the galaxy with us equally, they did not want  _us_ ," she fell silent heavily, and blinked, her eyes still on Leia's, "but they had no qualms with my non-Human pussy."

Leia almost flinched. She hadn't – quite expected the vulgarity, but she supposed other females coped differently. She struggled with the mortified chill that ran down her spine, and her lips parted dryly – she stared back at Tavska.

After a moment, she gave a small shake of her head.

"Those men are not human," she said softly. "They lack something. They lack," she fell silent, unsure what words to use. She put her hand up to her temple, and curled her fingers, gesticulating. "Males," she corrected, "who – human, or other," she fumbled off. "They are lacking some – compassionate spark."

She flushed, because she felt it was one of the most ineloquent things she had ever said.

Tavska's shoulders remained set, her expression poised.

"I wanted you to tell you," she said calmly. "I assure that when I heard what was said," she pressed her palm to her heart, "I understood the reality. As did any other being that had been subjected to the same. Not a single person who has been held down by Imperial hands…thought you were willing."

Leia looked back at her for a long time. She was speechless, but not unhappily so – she felt a kinship, and then she felt a strange relief, and she felt sadness. She took a deep breath, and nodded.

She bit her lip for a moment.

"I felt like they were killing me," she said softly, "with their bare hands."

She had said something similar once, to Han, and he had pressed his lips to her forehead and hugged her gently, but Tavska looked back at her, tilted her head to the side, and with utter and complete understanding, said:

"Yes," with a little nod. "So did I."

Leia sat back in her chair heavily, feeling somewhat as if she had lost her breath. She took a moment to catch it, lowering her lashes, and when she looked up, Tavska was giving a polite bow, and starting to excuse herself. Leia caught her breath sharply suddenly, and sat forward, gripped by curiosity.

"Tavska," she called. "Tavska," she added, more thoughtfully, when the Togruta turned around expectantly.

Leia hesitated, thinking of her conversations with Han –  _You're not the only woman_  – and Tavska's other words –  _not a single person who has been held down by Imperial hands –_

"Do you think I should have spoken out?" she asked – she sounded harsh, but she didn't mean to; her intent was clear. "Tavska," she said again, "does it make you angry that I haven't confirmed – it?"

Tavska blinked solemnly a few times, her lips pursed. She seemed deep in thought, her brow quizzical, and then sighed softly.

"Your Highness," she asked kindly, "would it have made you feel any better?"

Leia's lips moved soundlessly for a moment. She brushed her mouth with her fingers, shrugging almost to herself.

"No," she answered finally, very self-aware of that – no, for all the reasons she'd told Han; because then it became everyone's narrative, everyone's story to comment on, to ask about – it became necessary for her to soothe others about it – it just was not what she wanted.

Tavska nodded.

"I think females are different," she said solemnly. "I think healing is a unique process. Pardon me for saying this, but knowing the same thing happened to you does not make me feel better, or worse. It does not ease my pain. In some ways, it makes me feel powerless. In other ways, it makes me feel connected."

She fell quiet again.

"If you are asking if I think you are obligated to lead a therapy group, or share your pain to comfort others, my answer is no," she said, honest and unflinching.

"You don't think it's selfish for me to pretend it never happened?" Leia pressed quietly – she often wondered if that's what she was doing; the accusations leveled against her were argued against by some well-meaning supporters who suggested –  _clearly, the Princess was forced, the other idea is preposterous_ – and yet still, she said nothing –

"I do not think that is what you are doing," Tavska said bluntly. "I do not see it that way."

She started to say something else, hesitated, and then fell silent. She nodded, as if to emphasize her words.

"I'm not ashamed," Tavska said tiredly, "but I do not want to constantly relive what happened in a narrative for others as if it will siphon off the edge, piece by piece. It won't."

She clasped her hands.

"I think you understand."

Leia nodded, breathless – she did, all to well.

"Do you have someone there for you?" Leia asked.

Tavska smiled a little.

"Yes," she said firmly, "and she has endlessly rescued me."

Leia smiled, her shoulders dipping with relief. Tavska gave a small smile, and then lifted one shoulder.

"Before I take my leave, Your Highness, if I may suggest a tactic – these members of the press who continue to harp on this story? Who relentlessly pursue it? Revoke their organization's private privileges to you."

Leia looked startled, and then wary, and Tavska interlaced her fingers, bowing her head humbly.

"It is not an injunction against their speech," she argued, before Leia could shoot her down, "our provisions for free speech prevent imprisonment, not private consequence. If you simply but politely began to withhold elite invitations to your restricted events from the Media outlets who give credentials to these journalists, they would lose invaluable access to you and the problem would remedy itself."

Leia's brows went up thoughtfully, and she tapped her lower lip with her nail, looking at Tavska for a long time. She ran her tongue along her lip, biting down tightly, and nodded.

"Shrewd," she remarked – and managed to convey her gratitude, at Tavska's strategic suggestion, and her respect for everything else she and Tavska had just shared – and without a word, the two women parted – Tavska, to begin her end of week off days, and Leia, to sit a few moments more in her office, pensive – and peaceful.

* * *

_It hums._

That was what Leia had said when Luke asked her how this place made her feel; the first and only time she joined him in these ruins.

_It hums. It feels – alive_ – she had said, right before sitting with him in the midst of the abandoned rubble and destruction and taking her inaugural steps in meditation.

She had been right – she had a knack for describing things, whether she described them with sophisticated eloquence, or layman's simplicity: she had such a particular talent for illustrating things with words.

The old Jedi Temple hummed around Luke now, quiet and soothing, attuned to the Force and bursting at the seams with forgotten stories of its one-time inhabitants – of their triumphs, and their tragedies. He had made no move to start restoring this sacred place; he had yet to decide if this was where he would eventually seek to reincarnate the Jed Order –

Reincarnate was not an appropriate word for what he wanted, no – renew, reinvigorate? He struggled to define how he wanted to describe it; he just knew his efforts in teaching had to be different from the Jedi code of the past – much like Leia's New Republic, his new fellowship of sensitive beings had to be altogether different, one that sought the same good works but learned from the devastating mistakes of the past.

He had hesitated to start building his temple before he knew what he wanted to make of it; now, he hesitated to start building when news of his relation to Vader was so fresh – he did not want to frighten anyone, and he had seen fear in the eyes of many around him who knew of his power, who had heard stories of the might Force, and who suffered still from the after effects of a galaxy run by the Dark Side.

He twisted the tip of his boot into the charred stone and metal at his feet – rubble, perhaps, was not the best foundation for a new beginning – and yet, there were plenty of fresh starts built out of ash – and he tried to find a happy medium between integrating the past into the future, and obliterating the past, leaving no trace – and risking a cyclical downfall.

Meditating lazily, his legs crossed in a familiar, monk-like configuration, Luke's lashes fluttered as he absorbed himself in the humming ruins – and he focused on another sound, the faint sound of boots thumping methodically on stone and gnarled metal – Mara, somewhere in the catacombs of this ruined place, leaping and exploring – excavating.

_Be still and meditate with me_  – he had asked, and Mara, restless as ever, disappeared to investigate this place he had told her about –  _It's a tomb, a living mausoleum to the old Order,_ she murmured, her interest much more galvanized than she would admit –  _Archeological nerd,_  he called her –  _ecclesiastical bore,_  she responded smoothly.

Luke smiled to himself, he opened his eyes to call out to her, and found he was not alone.

The discovery did not startle him. He merely furrowed his eyebrows slightly, the way one might do if they found their shoes in the wrong place one morning, and could only vaguely remember moving them. He tilted his head, his exes fixed on the luminescent blue figure shimmering before him – existing, but not existing; present only by the grace of the living Force, and nothing more.

"Father," Luke greeted calmly.

Anakin Skywalker bent forward at the waist, legs crossed in mimicry of the way his son sat. He gave a grimace of greeting, rather than a word, or a smile, and Luke felt the effort it took for him to be here – Luke was reminded of the limited discussion he had with Leia about her experience with Anakin at Varykino.

This was the preternatural visage she had described – not solid, not confident, a conglomeration of the young, impassioned Jedi, and the decaying, aged Sith – Luke considered him intently in silence, unsure if he had expected him or not.

"I will not interfere long," the specter offered, the voice gravelly and unassuming.

Luke leaned forward with quiet earnest, flattening his palms to his knees.

"I don't consider it interference," he answered, and snorted quietly. "I've been seeking guidance. Asking for it – from Ben, from Yoda," he paused, "even from you."

Anakin looked up, meeting his son's eyes across the many planes of existence, and smiled, his scarred face still grim, but brighter – the expression of delight was genuine, and Luke felt eerie, as he always did, when he saw a smile on the lips of the man who had been Darth Vader.

"You are one of the living," Anakin said, his brow ticking up pointedly. "As each day passes, you are less interesting to those who have fused with the Force – less significant, less real."

"You're saying Ben and Yoda have already forgotten me?" Luke quipped.

"Consider it a vindication, my son," Anakin answered quietly. "You no longer need their tutelage."

Luke turned is hands over, palms up, and curled his fingers inward as if grasping at something.

"I feel like I need it, Father," he said hoarsely. "I can barely begin to conceive the depth of their knowledge – of the  _ancient_  knowledge of the Jedi, and where can I start if I hear only silence from my elders?"

The image of Anakin Skywalker wavered, shuddering – glittering darkly for a moment, as if ripped down the middle, and then solidifying, reclaiming the space he needed to occupy for a short time.

"Elders have wisdom," Anakin sighed heavily. "Elders have inflexibilities, as well," he added, and fell reflectively silent, while Luke watched him.

"I know better than to merely resurrect their Order as it was," he said finally, an edge of frustration to his tone, "but in the grand scheme of things, I know so little."

His father regarded him with an unreadable, ethereal expression – the depth in his iridescent eyes was unfathomable, unnatural to the blood-and-bone galaxy; he was of something else now, as Leia had described him – as Ben Kenobi now was, as all extinguished souls were.

"Knowing everything is impossible," Anakin said. "Knowing too much is often devastating; the thirst for knowledge is an admirable quality, but the search for that knowledge is often dark, and dangerous."

"Knowing nothing at all is dangerous," Luke countered.

Anakin looked up, through eyelashes that were not there – through a winkled, scarred, decaying white brow.

"Find the balance."

Luke fell silent again – listening to the hum, listening to the sound of his companion, far off; had Mara sensed the additional presence, were those footsteps of hers lingering far away, out of respect, or was she grappling her way back to him, curious, interested?

_Find the balance._

Shackled in penitent purgatory, Anakin Skywalker imparted the wisdom he had learned over his limited time being cleansed for his sins – Luke studied him, and drew on his past conversations with Leia –  _he said he was sentenced to confront those he had injured, to purge the dark side before he found peace in the light_ – in his redemption, he was being served justice, and the things he said – to Leia, and to Luke, were valuable, and yet –

"This is what terrifies people," Luke remarked, his brows going up, his tone light, but his expression intense, wary. "Luke Skywalker, pilot, Rebel darling, leader of a new generation of Jedi – taking counsel from Darth Vader."

He said it almost flippantly, because though he recognized weakness in himself, he had faced it before, and he knew he was strong enough to resist the seduction of the Dark Side; he knew he was man enough to turn his back on the ease of evil in favor of a life in the light.

Yet he was not a dishonest man, and he foresaw a future in which his students, eager to share the knowledge he gave them, mentioned that Master Luke communed occasionally with Lord Vader – and the galaxy as a whole, in all of the cruelty and chaos Luke had so very recently been utterly immersed in, would squash his attempts at raising a bright new fraternity of sensitive beings.

"It ought to terrify them, counsel from Darth Vader," Anakin said bluntly – guileless, and self-aware. "That is not what this is. I am a father, speaking with my son."

Luke lifted his hand, and exaggerated the stiff movements of the prosthetic, holding it between them – in front of his face, and in front of Anakin's face, looking at it, and peering around it.

"You were a despicable father," Luke remarked mildly.

"I was no father at all," Anakin answered mildly.

His image shuddered again, and a grimace wrenched itself across his face.

"This place, this ruin," he groaned softly. "It is my ruin," Anakin ran his hand along the floor they sat on, closing his eyes tightly. "Where the fall became irreversible."

"You reversed it," Luke said.

He looked down, and then looked up – all around them.

"What happened here, Father?" Luke asked quietly.

He thought, for a long time, that Anakin Skywalker would not answer – he thought, even, that he had faded away, left Luke along again. Then, heavy and tired, the answer came – simple, and yet infused with so much sordid history, that Luke understood without asking for more:

"I slaughtered the Jedi inheritance."

_Little ones,_  the Force whispered solemnly,  _young children_  –  _padawans on the brink._  Luke flinched at the aura he was subjected to for a moment – smoke and screams, fear and confusion:  _betrayal_. It was something Ben Kenobi had never told him, something Yoda had never discussed – the purges, Luke knew of; but that his father had executed the most terrible of them –

_Am I surprised - ?_  He asked himself.

"Luke," Anakin spoke heavily, and when Luke looked at him, the dark halo of his old helmet shadowed his human face, and Luke thought of Leia, describing this same image. Anakin dipped his head sourly. "Do not tell your sister."

Luke's lips turned down in grim agreement.

"I have no intention of disturbing Leia's peace in such a way," he said shortly – and then shook his head. "She has no illusions," Luke said shortly. "She holds you responsible for murders you did not even personally commit."

Luke was quiet a moment, and then –

"She's right to do so," he confessed quietly. "Your hands were blood red."

"Stained," Anakin said hollowly. "Unclean, still."

Luke went on –

"The galaxy knows who we are now, Leia and I. That you were our father. That  _she_  was our mother."

He paused, swallowing hard.

"I felt all the hate they had for you," he said huskily. "I felt all the fear you inspired, all the destruction you wreaked, all the heartache you imposed."

He shook his head.

"All you will ever be is Vader to them," he said thickly. "It's a miracle Leia has conceded to a glimpse of your humanity."

The specter hunched forward, spreading his hands out.

"Your soul is intact, my son – your duty to me has ended," he said. "You saved me. You salvaged what was left of a little slave on Tatooine who loved his mother, and loved to be a hero," he shook his head. "You forgive me, as my son, if you wish. You do not have to forgive me, as a living being, for the terrible acts I committed against sentient life."

Luke bowed his head, listening, and Anakin went on, his voice scraping through dimensions, raw, and enlightened.

"I did not ask your sister to forgive me," he said quietly, "that is too heavy an appeal to put to her good heart – it would destroy Leia to absolve me."

Anakin looked up.

"When you build your Order, when you lead people, when you make your way in this better world – do not ask the galaxy to forgive me," he advised. "It is too much to ask. Ask them to judge you separately from me. Ask them to believe in your goodness. But do not consider it failure if I remain indefensible."

Luke considered that, and while he considered it, Anakin offered one last piece of sage advice –

"Your relationship with me is that of an individual, a son to his father," he said quietly. "The galaxy's relationship to me does not have to parallel what you have overcome."

Luke's brow furrowed a little as he thought about it, lost in himself – lost in the hum of the Force. Leia had told him – mused – that the backlash against them during all of this had mirrored how she had raged against the truth herself, on her own personal level – irrational fear, hatred, refusal to accept – surfeits of wild emotions, and surfeits of unstable ways to cope with it.

He had been forced to learn that Leia's acceptance of Vader would never be the same sort he had; perhaps he could find his way forward if he took Anakin Skywalker's word for it, if he abandoned the notion of rehabilitating Vader's image – not that he had ever thought he could; he had only sought to highlight the redemptive narrative – and instead defined himself apart from Vader entirely.

_That was the man who sired me_  – he could acknowledge –  _but he did not make me._  That was what Leia had been saying for weeks - and yet Luke had always been more on the side of accepting Vader's legacy as his own legacy.

Luke looked up. He gave a subtle nod, a tacit acknowledgement of understanding – and he gained new insight, new understanding, in how to asses his thoughts and plans from this point on.

Considering his father – the fading image of his father, he tilted his head to the side with lightness, and raised a brow.

"I heard you paid her a visit," he said, in reference to Leia – she had told him, on an evening a week or so ago, about the apparition she had faced one night – the not-quite nightmarish ghost of Vader, reassuring her.

Anakin bowed his head, sheepish – could a wraith be sheepish? – it seemed this one could be.

He nodded, and Luke burst into an unexpected grin.

"That was nice," he teased wryly.

The absurdity of sitting beneath the city, surrounded by the ruins of the Jedi, teasing Darth Vader, was not lost on him – but Luke Skywalker had long ago learned to embrace absurdity.

"I would consider it a small victory if that moment gave her some respite," Anakin said humbly.

Luke took a deep breath.

"You know," he said softly. "I think it did."

Leia would likely never say so explicitly, but that moment seemed to have inflamed her ferocious goodness, and reawakened her faith in who she was.

Luke noticed the bright blue of the phantom was beginning to melt into the fabric of the air, disappearing slowly, and yet somehow all at once – and still Luke looked at the spot, his brow furrowed thoughtfully, unsure if he was really gone – he sensed Mara approaching without seeing her, and then just as abruptly as his father had appeared in front of him, the unearthly image was replaced by a pair of leather-clad, long legs, two feet encased in scuffed black boots.

Luke looked up, as Mara looked around, her expression quizzical.

"Evening, Lord Vader," she greeted after a moment – blithe, unconcerned, and Luke tilted a brow up in amusement.

"Can you see him?" he asked, incredulous.

"No," she answered, in a mild growl – she dropped to one knee, and placed her palm flat on the ground, peering at Luke intently. "I can feel his presence," she hissed. "It breathed down my neck for most of my young life," she reminded him – Vader had instructed her in use of a lightsaber, after all.

She pursed her lips.

"He used to read me bed time stories."

Luke looked astounded, and Mara's hard expression faded some – she laughed, and shifted to sit down, one knee still drawn up, her chin resting on it for a moment.

"Lu," she snorted. "Why do you believe anything you're told?"

Luke flushed, and glared at her.

"I generally expect people I trust to tell me the truth," he retorted.

"Darth  _Noble_ ," Mara crooned, and Luke jutted his foot out and kicked her boot as she laughed again.

She lifted her thumb to her teeth and bit down on a nail for a moment, shifting again, and drawing three bent, rusted data chips out of her boot. She presented them to Luke, her expression unreadable, and then cleared her throat.

"I found them in the wreckage," she said coolly. She leaned forward, and whispered seductively: "Who knows what secrets of old they contain."

Luke smirked at the whimsical comment, and held them up, a little awestruck.

"Mara – how – Mara, I have scoured this place for remnants – "

"Ah, ah – no, you have meditated in this place," she corrected. She spread her arm around her at the remains of the Jedi Temple. "Discovery is not always visceral, Luke," she said smugly. "Sometimes you have to excavate, rather than meditate."

Luke gave her a dry look.

"That has to be the thousandth poetic thing you've said to me since breaking in to my apartment," he drawled. "I am starting to believe it's intentional. Level with me – you don't want to train these Jedi with me because your true calling is to be poet laureate."

She tilted back her head and gave an unladylike bark of laughter.

"It isn't a hidden ambition, Skywalker, I just have a way with words," she retorted.

"I'll say," Luke muttered, looking at the data chips in his hands – treasure, in his eyes, and he hoped Mara would be around to discover them with him, if he could discover anything on them at all.

Even if it were nothing, even if it were just little school assignments, the drawings of younglings and would-be Jedi –

"Han has been asking about you," Luke said mildly, looking up to meet her eyes. "Not that he knows who you are," he added. "He keeps asking me about the leggy redhead squatting in my apartment."

"You can tell him that I am not interested in threesomes that involve two men."

Look shook his head, his eyes wide with mild alarm.

"Mara," he scolded, drawing her name out. "That's not – "

"I know," she interrupted wryly, "but it would be funny if you said that to him."

She drew her finger along her bottom lip, and arched a brow.

"What have you said in response?" she asked.

Luke shrugged.

"Why did you answer the door when he knocked, if you aren't interested in meeting my family?" he asked instead.

It was her turn to shrug, and Luke sensed she had no real way of explaining it – perhaps she had done it because she wanted them to know that Luke had someone, or she wanted to grab their attention, because they seemed to shuttle Luke off to the side –

"Han and Leia do not neglect me," Luke scoffed gently, plucking the thoughts from her mind.

Mara tossed her head.

"You can't place the onus of our secrecy solely on me," she retorted logically. "You lied to your sister when she asked if you were seeing someone."

_"You_  turned up your nose at the idea of me introducing you," Luke reminded her calmly.

Mara sighed.

"Luke," she said steadily. "You came looking when you heard about me from Calrissian," she recounted. "You found me. We've fought each other – violently. We've reconciled. We've studied. We've debated. We've laughed, we've traveled, we've fucked," she listed. "You've never mentioned me to them before."

Luke swallowed hard.

"I was never sure how to introduce you," he said earnestly. "I was trying to sort out my feelings – "

"And now I've sorted them for us," Mara said simply. "I could not have been clearer."

"I know," Luke said. He hesitated. "You're always harsh towards Leia," he said finally. "You seem disdainful of her, and even less impressed with Han. I thought," he trailed off. "It was easier when this thing between us was – "

"Dormant?"

Luke sighed.

"Yes."

Mara turned her head, staring off at nothing. Her long red hair tumbled over her shoulder and laid against her worn leather vest, vibrant and wild. Luke watched her throat move as she swallowed, watched her slowly turn her head back to meet his gaze.

"She's a fucking saint," Mara said, though her voice was hollow, and not necessarily cruel - -bitter, perhaps, but bitter for personal reasons. She cleared her throat. "How would you introduce me?" she demanded. "If you did. If I wanted you to."

Luke shrugged slowly.  _Now?_  – he thought to himself – previously, he might have said –  _she's my colleague, my companion_  – now he thought he might say, confidently enough –  _this is the woman I am slowly beginning to consider the love of my life, though whether it will be a happy love, I still don't know –_

"I'd tell her you're the woman I'm seeing," he said slowly. "The woman she smells on me."

Mara nodded, her lips curling in a sad little smirk.

"Yes, and how will that go over, Luke?" she asked, very softly. "Her brother, tangled in a romance with the personal assassin of Darth Sidious?"

Luke stared at her, and all at once he understood that Mara's caustic mockery of Han, her casual scorn of Leia and Leia's profession – was not something rooted in dislike, or malice, it was insecurity – pure and raw, it was  _insecurity_.

She did not want to be hated by people Luke loved – and she did not want to be one half of an ultimatum he might given, because she had very little faith she would win against his twin sister.

Luke nodded thoughtfully.

"You aren't that woman anymore, Mara," he said solemnly.

She bared her teeth, her eyes bright, and guarded.

"I am not some angelic defector who saw the error of my ways and turned my back on the Empire," she said tersely. "I was not a penitent Imperial – I was one of them, and when the Emperor died, I became a mercenary – I've fought against the Rebellion, and the New Republic – "

"For sustenance and survival," Luke remarked mildly.

"Luke, I never rigorously questioned the part I was playing for the Empire," she said harshly. "I never rejected it while it existed – there is something to be said for Vader actively redeeming himself at the expense of his own life, even if it was miniscule in the grand scheme of his atrocities, but  _me_?" she touched her chest roughly, pressing her palm flat against her heart. "I quit the Empire because it fell. Leia Organa Solo lost everything refusing to submit."

Mara shook her head.

"That woman is going to hate me."

Luke sighed heavily.

"Her father was Darth Vader," he said. "She knows a little about the complexity that lives in people."

"He was family," Mara said curtly. "Whether Leia likes it or not, he was family. You are family. When she accepts Vader, it is because she must – or be at war with herself. When she accepts your peace with Vader, it is because she loves you – and people make exceptions for family; people do things for family that they would never do for a stranger."

"Leia is not one of those people," Luke said.

"Everyone is, Lu," Mara said huskily. "Even if it is subtle, it is a universal truth."

She sighed, and pushed her hand back through her hair, resting her chin on her knee for a moment. She lifted her head, and went on, carefully:

"You could choose a woman who doesn't have the past I have, who doesn't give Leia another hideous storm to grapple with," she said. "She'll wonder why you didn't."

That made Luke smile.

"She might wish I had," he said, "but of all people, Leia understands that these kinds of feelings are not a choice. She could have chosen someone who didn't put her at odds with all the political elite, and her family – and Mon Mothma constantly asked her why she didn't."

Luke shrugged simple.

"She told me once she'd have chosen Han over her father," he confessed quietly. "I have faith in Leia's love for me," he said. "If she knows you're important, she'll make an effort. She's not selfish. She knows my happiness can't be compromised by her discomfort – we've had this issue before."

Mara let out a breath, her teeth set together neatly. She looked skeptical – but admiring, and she smiled a little.

"She wore white dresses her entire life," Mara muttered. "You think she'll ever understand how grey I will always be?"

Luke arched his brows.

"You might have to talk to her, Mara," he said simply. "Talk to her like you talked to me. Give her insight into who you are."

He shrugged.

"I never got the impression Leia liked her white that much, anyway."

Mara tilted her head, and smirked, shaking her head. She unfolded her body, and leaned back on her elbows, stretching out – ankles crossed, she placed them in Luke's lap, and tilted her head back, hair brushing the ruined floors they sat on.

Luke watched her, reaching up to rub his jaw—the breakthrough in his relationship with Mara, its evolution from  _what is this_ to -  _this is it –_ was an bright spot that had come out of the fallout of Leia's revelation; so, to, was the knew outlook he had on his mission in rebuilding the Jedi Order.

He could only hope that as time passed, the galaxy found itself able to reckon with the shadow of the Vader in the same way his children had.

* * *

The havoc that descended following Leia's revelation – henceforth immortalized as  _The Skywalker Reckoning_  - had at last reached its plateau; in her private thoughts, Leia had ceased to use the term backlash to describe her state of affairs, and migrated towards a gentler word–  _aftermath_.

Aftermath, backlash – the two nouns were synonyms, but language was odd in that quite often, words that meant the same thing also carried entirely different connotations; backlash was a word that had effortlessly described the initial violent, wild, snarling reaction of the galaxy, and aftermath was one that defined a more stable reality: one that existed with Leia's familial information in it and had shifted more towards coping, rather than raging.

So it had plateaued – as Leia had said it would, as she knew it would; she had soothed Han with those words, bolstered Luke with that assurance, reminded herself of it when the storm seemed most unbearable – even in the darkest hours, Leia had known, deep down, that this would be like anything else: a savage and sensational piece of news that would bleed itself dry eventually.

Leia had been on high alert during her first week back in full capacity; she had monitored things carefully, walked confidently but demurely, set herself back on track neatly, but graciously – watched, waited, and listened, and in a quiet breath of relief at an Alderaanian Council meeting this week, had finally said the words aloud, cautious even in her certainty:  _I think the worst is over._

She supposed things would stand still for a while; she supposed there would still be an aura of wariness around her and her dealings, but she was satisfied with that, because she was sure of herself – and because the rumors were repetitive now, because the gossip was redundant and mundane, she had heard it all, and she was immune to being shocked.

The Media riots had plateaued, and the endless stream of conspiracy theories, accusations, and possible scandals had plateaued, because there had never really been anything to find, and there was nothing left to concoct out of thin air.

It had all already been done –

Personal beliefs about the whole thing had been formed – and the average being's private opinions had been solidified, and Leia knew that certain factions were now permanent –

There were those who held the tried and true old belief that all politicians were the same, that Princess Leia Organa Solo was no different, no matter what she said about herself, or what other said about her – the cynics did not quite give a damn who she was or was not related to, because even if they thought her better than the rest, she was still a politician, and a nice snake was still not an admirable one.

There were those who harbored strange, fanatical obsessions with Vader, and Sith Lore –  _groupies,_  Pooja called them, with a shiver – pockets of humans who had hero-worshipped the shadow Vader was, and transferred some of their eerie fascination to Leia – they liked her, but they wanted to stalk her, wanted to twist her into some female rendition of their rock star villain – harmless, mostly, but weird all the same. Leia thought them the most unanticipated in terms of how people would react – privileged, in that they could have a sub-cultural, spooky obsession with Vader only because as humans, they were relative safe from Imperial persecution. They were ignorable – fringe groups.

There were those who were merely gossips – eager to hear anything prurient about a public figure, not necessarily willing to believe it, but  _dying_  to talk about it, and those beings could be somewhat malicious, in a maddeningly innocent way – they fueled the Media mud-gathering, and ensured the drivel kept being cranked out merely because it was eagerly consumed – but they were people who were as quick to drop a rumor as they were to pick it up – one shiny thing to the next.

There were those who lived their lives, oblivious to the powerful elite, who might have asked who the hell Princess Leia was, anyway, and demanded to know when the price of bread was going to go down in their villages.

There were those who wanted Leia out of power – and who had always wanted her out of power, and so the revelation was not necessarily something that had changed their minds about her, or triggered their hatred; it was something they could capitalize on and use, at least for a time being – they were cruel, and vicious, and always had been, and Leia could hold her own with them now just as easily as she did when the had to find more contrived reasons to hate her.

There were those who just did not like her, and liked that she had an unsavory connection to trouble her.

There were those who had been shocked, felt betrayed, and yet after shaking off the relative concussion they had received from hearing the news, had shrugged off the notion that Leia was any different, and eased back into the habit of working with her, because she hadn't changed, and she was still the same woman they had liked beforehand.

There were those who hadn't believed the bit about Vader at all, and funnily enough, wrote it off still as just another wild political rumor.

And there were those – of course, there were those, who loved her no matter what, regardless of her blood or her background; and those were not, as she had first assumed, just close friends and family – she had come to find that more than one colleague, though perhaps safely silent at first, for fear of their own career, had never been shaken by the announcement, and had perhaps had reactions only slightly different than Han's – which was to say, a short grimace if dismay at the idea, but no real change in their opinion of her.

Leia neatly catalogued the different veins of reaction, both in the quiet corners of her mind, and in succinct, classified files that she kept for her records – having it all sorted out in holos before her educated her logically, and helped her in reflecting on her image, and deciding how to go forward – something she felt like she had been doing for months on end now.

She felt like she was coming to the end of – years of soul-searching, finally coming to the point where she was taking steps that were entirely her own, rather than guided by her Mother's regal inspiration, her father's clandestine endeavors, the Rebellion's complex needs – Vader's shadow. She had found small victories in self-awareness and independence time and time again in the past years – marrying Han and snubbing any notion of her body as a commodity was one of them – but now, she felt triumph on the horizon.

She had seen to the deconstruction of the Empire, she had seen to the reconstruction of democracy, it's stabilization; she had reconnected with a family she never knew, and that never knew her, and she had faced her demons – and then forced the rest of the world to confront them, too.

Leia felt – somewhat like all major stumbling blocks to her future were obliterated – as if the challenges of a difficult, painful past were placated, and the way forward was unknown, and all her own.

She felt relief, and she felt seized with a fierce pride – she had been transparent in spite of the heartache, she had come to terms with herself and her past, and there was no more hiding, no more fear.

The vehemence of it all was over, the threat felt conquered – and today, today she had left her office, stepped into her sleek, modest little speeder, and flown it home –  _home_ , her home; not the Embassy, not the Crown Princess's suite at the Residence –

Home.

Han had already been off of work – and there was a youthful giddiness in the way she burst through the door, a smile already pulling at her lips – their address was relatively public now, that much was confirmed, but it had not been burdensome yet – and regardless, Leia felt  _safe_  here.

There was such simple joy in slipping her hand over the access pad for her own apartment, hearing the door shut behind her with a snug  _swish_ , breathing in the familiar, distinctive scent of one's own home – in her case, Corellian spice, dry whiskey, grease, fresh pears, Arallute petals –

And even better was Han waiting there, shirtless and barefoot and giving her one of his cool, roguish smirks, dramatically lounging on the living room sofa –  _Hey, welcome home, Sweetheart_  – where their doors locked, and they were all alone, had each other all to themselves – it reminded her of when they first moved in, and all Han wanted to know where he should take her first, to christen the place.

This evening, he pulled her onto the floor with him, laughing in her ear at her little shriek of protest –  _You can be as loud as you want, Your Worship – Han, the carpet – carpet burn, oh, Han_  – he pulled her closer, and kissed her harder, and somehow the treat of reclaiming their solitary little penthouse made her feel like a new bride again, though she supposed they were still newlyweds, having not been married a year yet.

Such a year – such a year.

Stimulated and sated all at once, Leia lay back on the sofa next to Han, both of their legs propped up on the kaffe table. She leaned back into the cushions behind her, head tilted back a little, her eyes on the holo in front of them – the volume was quiet, but sufficient; Leia had turned it on when they were done scandalizing their carpet, while Han fixed two glasses of whiskey and brought her a shirt to pull on over her bare skin.

She brushed her toes together idly and Han nudged her ankle with his shin, his legs aligned next to hers. He shifted a little, half on his side, pressed next to her with his shoulders hunched down a little farther, his hand running over her thigh and her abdomen, his lips brushing her shoulder, and occasionally the side of her breast through her thin t-shirt.

He had pulled his trousers back on, but they were unfastened, and one of the pant legs was rolled and hiked up on his leg, a fashion statement he chose to ignore – it kept moving higher every time he shifted for comfort, and moved closer to Leia – silently, she reveled in the attention, drew quiet strength from it.

Next to her, he felt so relaxed – every muscle in his body seemed soft and calm, and she could not remember when Han had last been this relaxed; certainly not since all of this had started. She supposed she was relaxed as well – and she smiled a little at her choice to turn the holo on, when she ought to turn it off and turn to Han – she glanced over at the doors of their balcony; it was near sunset on Coruscant.

She reached over and threaded her fingers through Han's hair, her eyes on the holo – she watched it placidly, neutrally – it was a harmless program, one of the political rundowns of the week. She always watched it – part of being back in her routine was watching it, and now that – now that she and Han were home, it could all really be  _over_  –

The daily recap droned on – Leia watching, Han listening with one ear while he lavished physical attention on her, subtly trying to remind her he was more interesting than the news.

… _this was actually the first time Viceroy Organa has appeared in official capacity with his daughter since the Skywalker Reckoning – of course, Ambassador Organa was met with her usual crowd of reporters, after which the Viceroy appeared to be consoling her; no word on what was said to upset the Princess …_

Han pulled away suddenly and sharply, giving Leia's profile a narrow look.

"What upset the Princess?" he asked, alert – he hadn't heard anything. Leia hadn't even been subdued, or acting strange, and he had been so aware lately, so focused on paying attention to her world, and being attuned to it –

Leia sighed, and tossed her head a little, waving her hand at the screen.

"Father wasn't consoling me," she dismissed in a murmur. "I was," she paused, and sighed. "I was alright," she said honestly.

Han tilted his head at her, glaring mildly, and Leia relaxed more, tilting her head him.

"You want to hear what was said," she guessed.

"Yes," he grunted indignantly, with a few pointed blinks.

"Hmm," Leia sighed. "Well, I was asked again if you and I have any interest in children," she revealed.

Han nodded - typical enough; Leia never answered it. Her response was always the same – _I don't comment on my or General Solo's personal lives._ Come to think of it – that particular obnoxious question had been shunted aside in light of all the Vader stuff; Han hadn't heard her make a snide remark about it in a while.

Leia bit the inside of her cheek for a moment.

"Before I could get my patent answer out, another reporter asked," she paused, and then shook her head, her voice becoming stiff as she repeated it – "if I  _thought it was a good idea to breed, considering_."

Han looked like he'd been slapped.

" _What_?" he barked, sitting up a little more. He drew both of his feet off the table, pushing one fist into the cushions next to his hip to brace himself.

Leia blinked, and her eyes stung, though the tears didn't come close to falling – they just mustered in her lashes, clinging there. She had cried enough lately – though she hadn't really considered the comment that bothersome, until she repeated it to Han, and saw the panic and fear in his eyes –  _fear it will turn me off to the idea forever,_  she thought.

"Breed," she quoted. "Like I'm an animal."

Han reached up, and his hand curved around the back of her head, cupping her neck in his palm. He shook his head wordlessly, somehow, still surprised by the cruelty, and stroked the nape of her neck, holding her gaze.

"Leia, people can't say shit like that – why can they say that kind of stuff to you?" he asked helplessly. He was alarmed because he knew how Leia could be on this subject - alarmed because that was something new, actually; nothing like that had come up yet, from the Media.

Leia shrugged mildly.

"I fought for their right to speech, too," she said – her stock answer, her infuriating answer, and Han fell silent, looking at her admiringly for a moment. Though she was much less tolerant of hateful speech than she had been – Tavska's tactic was well on its way to be implemented – her basic beliefs stayed the same.

Han's face blanched a little as he looked at her, and he moved his hand to her cheek. He ran his thumb along her jaw.

"Sweetheart," he said softly. "You can't listen to that," he pleaded.

Leia shook her head.

"No," she agreed. "I wasn't – it didn't make me feel good," she said faintly, "but it didn't scare me."

Han listened, and Leia swallowed thoughtfully.

"It put some things into perspective, oddly," she admitted.

"What things?" Han asked gingerly.

"Some things," Leia repeated. She tilted her head at him. "Things you said to me on Naboo."

She sat up a little, her ankles barely balanced on the edge of the kaffe table. Han let his hand slip off her cheek, brush her shoulder, and he sat on the edge of the sofa, angled towards her. Leia sighed again, and reached out, waving her fingers lazily at the holo – the volume shut off, and she looked at Han thoughtfully.

"Father was not consoling me," she repeated. "It was a hateful thing to say, but I think I needed to hear it."

Han blinked a few times, frowning.

"You needed to hear it?" he repeated.

Leia nodded slowly.

"I don't mean that I needed to hear it so I would believe it," she said softly. "I needed to hear someone else say – something like that," she said, gesturing with her hand suddenly, hands curled up pointedly, "so I could hear how – absurd it is."

She shook her head, her hands falling to her lap.

"Breed," she quoted again, scowling: " _considering_."

Han didn't say anything for a minute. He kept looking at her, and then he tilted his head.

"What'd you mean, about Naboo?" he asked finally. "I said some mean things," he remembered warily – they'd had several fights on Naboo.

Leia laughed huskily.

"No, not one of the mean things," she placated. She drew her bottom lip in between her teeth, and then compressed her lips calmly.

"Well, what'd I say?" Han asked.

Leia's brow went up a little.

"That I can't decide I don't want a baby because of Vader," she recited softly. "That doing so would let him run my whole life. That you didn't want  _that bastard_  to be the reason I wanted a baby, but didn't have one," she paused, taking a deep breath, "that you loved me too much for me to handle, and it needed more places to go."

Han gave her a self-conscious little look.

"Doesn't sound like me," he said gruffly, his neck flushing a little, and Leia smiled – knowing full well he wasn't denying the emotion itself, but trying to remember if he'd really actually said something so –

"You said that," Leia assured him. "You  _did_ , to my face," she teased warmly.

Han shook his head, his lips turning up.

"You were right," Leia said huskily.

She sat forward a little more and took a deep breath, licking her lips hesitantly before going on.

"I'm not like Vader," she said, brushing her fingers to her heart, "and neither is Luke – and maybe that is nurture over nature, or maybe it's not," she trailed off, and then gestured at the holo. "After I spoke with that reporter, I asked Father if he was ever afraid of me," she explained. "He knew who I was. What I could turn into."

Her father had simply said no – no he wasn't, because he did not think anything about Vader was genetic – and hadn't Luke being saying that for ages, too; that Vader made a choice?

"Willingly or not, I have let Vader dictate a lot of my choices in the past year," she confessed. "My political choices, my emotions," she said. "I'm not going to do that anymore."

She reached out and touched Han's knee.

"You were right when you said he was holding me back," she said – and then: "You usually are right, when it comes to me, emotionally."

Han grinned a little, his posture shaping up somewhat. He leaned forward, shrugging.

"Who woulda thought?"

Leia smiled faintly, and shifted closer. She leaned forward, and pressed her forehead against his arm for a moment, leaning back, and grasping his shoulders in his hands. She pressed her palms against him, and her fingertips into him.

"I wasn't always like this," she laughed. "I used to be so…emotionally intelligent," she paused, "of course, maybe we all think we're emotionally evolved until things fall apart."

She swallowed hard.

"That's the true test, isn't it?"

Han shrugged.

"'M not an expert."

He didn't know much about things like that – he did know that if Leia thought all of her accomplishments since the loss of her planet amounted to her falling apart, she had higher standards for herself than he could imagine.

He looked down at one of her hands, and then shrugged off her touch, catching her fingers in his and pulling them tightly into his grasp, holding them in his lap. He searched her face intently, his amber eyes boring into hers.

"What're you saying, Leia?" he asked. "I don't wanna put words in your mouth."

She sat forward a little more, her knees pressing against his.

"I'm saying," she began nervously. "That I – that this has all been – tense," she said mildly, "and difficult, and even though I'm back at work, my career has taken a hit – it will be – mellow," she paused, searching for a different word, "not mellow – more slow-paced, for a while," she murmured. She looked up through her lashes. "And that's okay. I want to let it be that way. I want to put my words in action – show the galaxy that I am continuing to do good, democratic work. I won't make any moves for power for a while."

"I thought you wanted to run –"

"I do," Leia said. "I will. Someday. Not now. For now, I'll … be comfortable where I am. I'll devote more time to Alderaan for a little while. I need a more intimate connection with the Diaspora now that this secret is out."

Han listened.

"It's going to be a quieter time in my career," she said concisely, "and I think…I've been thinking," she bit her lip, "we might talk about having a baby."

Han leaned back a little, surprised. He looked at her for a moment, and then brought one hand up to his mouth, rubbing his jaw gently. He nodded slowly.

"Talk – okay," he started neutrally, trying not to be too eager right out of the gate.

Leia took another deep breath.

"I don't mean talk about – talking about it," she said, her lashes twitching nervously. "I thought we might talk about  _when_  we're going to have a baby."

Han paused, his hand covering his mouth for a moment. He peered at her over the edge of his hand, and then raised his eyebrows, leaning forward. He swept his hand back down to hers, tilting his head.

"You're serious?" he asked steadily.

Leia caught her breath, but nodded; Han reached up to grasp her shoulder, rubbing the heel of his palm against her t-shirt. She let out her breath, and went on quickly, her words a little shaky.

"It's a – we can take, um, steps – in that direction. I thought...in a few months, I might have my implant out. I still need to – I'll need to see a, a doctor, because I don't know if I, ah, if I can," she stopped talking, her eyes wide, and Han leaned forward to press his forehead against hers, holding her arm tightly – protectively.

"I don't want it hanging over my head," she whispered, "whether or not I can."

She'd been thinking she wanted to feel it all out at once – she had told Han, back at Varykino, that her reluctance to commit to the idea of children was a complex reluctance, with multifaceted reasons; yet at this point, she had overcome the part of it that was connected to Vader, and some of the other parts were things that would never be certainties – and she feared waiting to overcome all of them, and only then finding out she couldn't have a baby at all, more than she feared slowly but steadily unraveling her fears, and confronting the physical reality, at the same time.

"Leia," Han mumbled, pressing a kiss to her lips. He ran his hand up and down her shoulder. "Leia, we don't have to rush. We can look into all that real slow."

She nodded.

"I know, I know you won't rush me," she murmured. "You  _haven't_  been rushing me."

Han kissed her again, and sat back, a smile starting across his face.

"You sure, Sweetheart?" he asked. "You just seemed – so unsure."

"In some ways I think I still am," Leia said honestly. "I think there…will always be an element of  _unsure_  to something like this, an element my logical mind needs to realize I  _can't_  eliminate," she explained. She clasped her hands, and tilted her head up, drawing in a deep breath. "My deciding factor is you," she said, "us," she said, looking back down. "Your words mean more to me than some – reporter's, but when he said that to me about breeding, he made it sound like my baby would be Vader's baby, and I thought," she paused, and shook her head, "I thought –  _don't say that, my children are mine and Han's._ They'll look like Han and...they'll probably smile like Han."

She licked her lips.

"I thought of it as a reality, and not a possibility," she said.

She leaned over, bracing one palm on the sofa, and resting on her arm.

"My mother had a desperate desire to be a  _mother_ ," she reflected. "I'm not certain I have that. But I told you – it's like I told you on Naboo," she said huskily, "I'm scared of this, yes, but I want a baby with  _you_."

Han looked hesitant for a moment; he looked conflicted.

"Hang on, though, I told you not to have a baby  _for_  me, not, ah – "

Leia was shaking her head.

"I don't mean it that way – " she broke off, brow furrowed. "How can I tell you this without it sounding like I'm gracing you with a baby?" she laughed a little to herself, and then looked up. "You told me once that you never really thought you wanted kids before me."

Han nodded. He shrugged – yeah, he had, and yeah, that was the truth.

"You don't want a baby because you got married," she went on, "you want one with me."

He nodded again, slower.

"I'm not saying I decided this because you want one. I feel…like all of my doubts can be overcome," she bit her lip, "because it would be  _your_  baby."

She lifted her shoulders, breathing out serenely.

"If I am your reason, you can be my reason," she whispered. "In fact, I think that's the only reason we should do this. For each other."

In case he still felt wary – and she didn't want him to feel wary, because he had been so eager, she said –

"I want this, Han. I had a moment of clarity," she lifted her shoulders helplessly, "and it stuck. "I want it, and if you want it, and we take it slow," she stared at him, her lips parted – and breathed out.

She said nothing else, and Han swallowed hard, feeling an indefinable nervousness rising in his chest – nothing bad, nothing threatening, the kind of pleasant anxiety that came with happiness, because with every intense moment of happiness, Han still battled a vague, lurking fear that he would lose it.

He lurched forward and merely drew her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her so securely she felt like she was a part of him, her lips pressed against his heartbeat, breathing in the safe, strong scent of him. She basked in that for a long time, pressing her hand against the back of his neck and thanking him, silently, for all he had done since this all began.

She drew back, caught his lips in a kiss, and tilted her head, eyes soft.

"So," she murmured with finality. "That's that."

He nodded – that was that; that was the end of a burning question, the tail end of a harrowing few months of public obstacles – this interlude in their lives was over, and here they faced yet another brink of stepping into the new, and unknown, and it felt better than usual – this familiar sort of moment.

Leia smiled at him, and he grinned back, moving forward and tumbling her backwards onto the couch, slipping is arms under her and pinning her gently; Leia giggled and grasped at his waist, tangling her legs up willingly – the next year would bring – Winter's wedding, perhaps, the Alderaanian Haven, if all things went to plan – the next year would bring – Han kissed her throat –

She didn't know what all it would bring, but the demons of the past would stay just there – in the past.

* * *

_ The End _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- alexandra

**Author's Note:**

> So, the time frame of this first chapter is about 1 week - from announcement, to end of the next week (ish)
> 
> -Alexandra


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